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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952762">Keep On Carrying On</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComicBooksBro/pseuds/ComicBooksBro'>ComicBooksBro</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(eventual) fluff, Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Cas is scared of the dark, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Castiel in the Empty (Supernatural), Chuck Won, Chuck is controlling the Winchesters (ish), Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Whump, Djinni &amp; Genies, Episode: s15e20 Carry On, F/M, Fix-It, God | Chuck Shurley Being an Asshole, Grieving Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Heaven, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Not Beta Read, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Purgatory, Sharing a Bed, Sigils, dean says I love you, ophiotaurus, saddle up bitches because im going feral here, tags will be added as I go</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:34:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,766</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952762</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComicBooksBro/pseuds/ComicBooksBro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively titled: Chuck is a Great Big Bag of Dicks.</p><p>***</p><p>Dean Winchester is dead, which, by all previous accounts, should fucking suck, but with the way that Jack has revamped Heaven...</p><p>It still fucking sucks. Sam is here, at least, but Cas won't return Dean's prayers, and no matter what, Dean still has the sneaking feeling that he's being watched. He needs to take it all one thing at a time, though, and that starts with the whole being dead thing.</p><p>Huh, must be Tuesday.</p><p>***</p><p>Or: I'm fixing the total shitshow that was 15x20, with a lot of angst, mental trauma, and resurrection. Enjoy the ride, I guess.</p><p>(Updates 1-2 times a week.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Jack Kline &amp; Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lay Your Weary Head to Rest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome welcome welcome one and all! Here we've got the first chapter (it's more like a prologue, really) of my canon complaint fix-it for 15x20. I, like you, was rather pissed by the way they ended things. I still love the show, of course, and I'll rewatch it endlessly, but that ending... oof. It was all going so well up until 15x20. Anyway, months (and several rough drafts later) here we are.</p><p>This fic is kind of my baby, not gonna lie, so I'm super excited to get it out into the world. It's also for my friend (who is yet to finish the show. I'm trying to save her a bit of heartbreak with this thing. I hope it works). So, um, Lemming, if you see this, no you didn't, and you have very good taste.</p><p>This chapter is a bit short, but all in all, chapters after this should be about 1,000 words each.</p><p>(Geez. That was a long note. Let's get to the fic!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean Winchester dies on a hunt.</p><p>He dies confused, hurting, and scared.</p><p>He has no idea where he is, or how he came to be here——only that there are dead vamps all around him, a hole is speared through his chest, and that Sammy is crying. Blood bubbles in his punctured lungs as he struggles to take a breath, but the metal is buried too deeply in his body, and he’s too tired to force his lungs to cooperate. All Dean can manage is a weak gasp and a whimper that his ears refuse to process.</p><p>It looks like Sam is saying something too, but Dean can’t tell what. He can’t even hear the blood rushing in his ears.</p><p>How did he get here? Why can’t he feel his legs?</p><p>
  <em>Sam? What’s happening?</em>
</p><p>Dean can’t seem to speak, either. He feels like a passenger in his own body.</p><p>In his <em>dying</em> body.</p><p>He’s not ready. He can’t leave Sam like this——he can’t leave <em>Cas</em> in the empty——he can’t leave his family. He can’t——</p><p>He can’t——</p><p>Shit. He can’t breathe. No. <em>No.</em> He can’t die like this. He needs to get Cas back, he needs to tell Cas everything that he was too scared to before. He needs to——</p><p>He needs to breathe.</p><p>He can’t.</p><p>Dean’s vision fuzzes out, and his thoughts black out like burning film. Sam’s tear-stained face is lost to darkness, and no matter how hard Dean tries, he can’t seem to get his sight back. Something tears inside of him, and more blood gushes into his already struggling lungs.</p><p>It’s too late.</p><p>
  <em> <strike>Why didn’t Sam try to help him?</strike> </em>
</p><p>Scared, broken, and hurting, Dean Winchester dies, choking on his own blood.</p><p>And he doesn’t even know how he got there in the first place.</p><p>***</p><p>Sam has always wanted a normal life.</p><p>He was lucky enough to get it for a while, too. The wife, kid, dog, picket fence... All of it.</p><p>It was nice. Peaceful. Everything he ever wanted.</p><p>(Of course, save for the panic attacks that he couldn’t talk about to a wife he can’t remember. And the persistent voice in the back of his head telling him to drive off a cliff. And——)</p><p>It was perfect.</p><p>It was <em>perfect.</em></p><p>Everything he had ever wanted.</p><p>Picket fence.</p><p>Kid.</p><p>Job.</p><p>Dog.</p><p>Normal things.</p><p>Sam can’t remember what he did to the keys to the bunker after he locked down and left. Part of him hopes that he gave them to Garth or Jody, but the other part is almost certain that he hurled them off of a bridge somewhere between Lebanon and——</p><p>And——</p><p>He doesn’t know what happened to the keys.</p><p>Keys are trivial in the grand scheme of things, though. What matters is that Sam got what he wanted: wife, kid, picket fence.</p><p>He got out.</p><p>And that’s what matters.</p><p>That’s all that matters.</p><p>***</p><p>And Cas...</p><p>Well, Cas is far too deep in his worst memories to care about anything now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Highway to Heaven (Or: How we Got Here)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>More background before we snap back to the present day. Chuck sure likes hurting the boys, doesn't he?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks so far! Y'all rock &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Chuck is being perfectly honest, what he has going now is one of his best plans to date——and that’s saying something, because Chuck has carried out a lot of plans over eternity. But even his most bloody apocalypse is lackluster compared to what he’s done now.</p><p>He’s gotten the Winchesters to stop fighting.</p><p>The Winchesters have fought him, and their story——their destinies——at every available opportunity, and Chuck has finally gotten them to surrender. The accomplishment makes him smile, though it’s slightly difficult when the nephilim he’s trying to keep under wraps makes an attempt at taking back control of his body.</p><p>But, really? Jack’s struggles are futile. Of course they are, because Chuck is <em>god,</em> and it’s impossible to beat the deity that’s in charge of writing your story. It is <em>ever</em> so entertaining to see Jack try, though.</p><p>The minor headache Chuck ends up with is more than worth it to hear the sadness and anger that Jack screeches day and night. Apologies, promises to the Winchesters and Castiel that he has no hope of keeping, and the occasional threat when he tries to sound like Dean. The passion that goes into Jack’s attempts and rants is commendable, but——like the toddler that he technically is——Jack eventually tires himself out, and retreats back into his own mind.</p><p>And just like that, Chuck is alone again, and his mind is quiet. Just like that, the world is his to control and manipulate again, as it should be. So, with nothing stopping him, Chuck sets his sights on his favorite toys: Sam and Dean Winchester.</p><p>Sam is coping with everything surprisingly well, all things considered. He’s as mentally intact as one in his situation can be, but under his relative mental stability, there’s a strong undercurrent of sadness, and a painful amount of loss.</p><p>Chuck likes that. He feels that the Winchesters deserve to suffer after everything they have done to him. They had been the stars of the show, too. All that was required of them was compliance. All that they had needed to do was follow where Chuck led, and jump when he told them to. It was a simple job——so easy that even the most basic apes could complete it.</p><p>But the Winchesters couldn’t, so now Sam is going to suffer the consequences. And that, of course, means bye-bye Eileen.</p><p>Sam pushes her away, and he doesn’t understand why, which only makes it better.</p><p>Dean, on the other hand...</p><p>Oh, Dean. He isn’t doing well at all. Everything that Chuck wants him to be: the strong, ruthless hunter who couldn’t give a shit——all of that——is irrelevant as far as Dean’s current characterization is concerned. At the moment, Dean is anything but the person Chuck had designed him to be. He’s drinking, and not in a way that makes him seem cool and rugged, which is the way that it was intended to look in the beginning. What Dean is doing is drinking himself to death, and honestly? It’s not as fun to watch as Chuck had thought it would be.</p><p>Every day, Dean wakes up, makes breakfast to create the illusion that he’s okay, and then promptly spends the rest of his time attempting not to completely mentally break, and chugging whiskey like it’s the only thing he can keep down. (And at this point, Chuck has rewired Dean’s system to drive him back to alcohol so many times that it might very well be one of the only things Dean can digest without throwing up.)</p><p>Despite appearing to drink nothing but alcohol, the sheer amount of tears that Dean manages to produce is, quite frankly, shocking. Still, Chuck is just a little bit disappointed. Dean hadn’t been created to <em>cry</em> over trauma that Chuck had put up more than enough walls in Dean’s mind to block out.</p><p>Dean had been created to fight monsters. But he insists on tears. It’s always been that way, and Chuck is starting to wish that he had written the Winchesters’ coding similar to the way he had the angels': without all those pesky emotions. It’s too late now, though. Maybe next time. After all, there is always another universe, but Chuck would like to see if he can save this one.</p><p>So he puts up with Dean's tears as he attempts to fix him. The tears (and accompanying emotions) are rather annoying, because not only do they interfere with the storyline that Chuck is cooking up, but Dean is always——<em>always</em>——distraught about the same thing, and it's a thing Chuck hates.</p><p>Castiel.</p><p>The ‘angel’ with a crack in his chassis. Although, maybe ‘crack’ isn’t the best way to describe what had gone so catastrophically wrong with Castiel. (Chuck still isn’t sure exactly what the problem with Castiel had been, or why it wasn’t fixable.) If anything, Castiel was more the product of a shattered mold.</p><p>And Dean just won’t shut the fuck up about one of Chuck’s worst mistakes.</p><p><em>Cas</em> this, <em>Cas</em> that. Every damn hour of the day.</p><p>Dean prays constantly, despite the fact that Castiel can’t hear him, and never will. In some part of his mind, Dean knows that Castiel will never hear anything he says, but the prayers seem to calm Dean somewhat. Or, at least enough so that he can fall asleep on a good day.</p><p>(Chuck would much rather not go into detail on the ‘bad days.’ Dean shouldn’t be having them in the first place.)</p><p>It’s exhausting to deal with, and even more boring to watch. Chuck does enjoy suffering, but this... it's so out of character for Dean, and just <em>has</em> to go.</p><p>So, in a stroke of genius, Chuck decides to put a stop to it. All he needs to do is flip a few switches, and Dean will go back to how he should be. No more Cas, no more grief, and no more unchoreographed emotions. That decided, Chuck quickly knocks Dean out, and traps him in nightmares long enough to get his work done.</p><p>After the pesky <em>consciousness</em> thing is taken care of, Chuck switches a few wires (okay, a lot of wires), fries some synapses (okay, a lot of synapses), and generally fucks around with Dean’s fragile, traumatized, broken brain in an effort to fix him.</p><p>In the end, Chuck ends up putting up enough walls in Dean’s mind to build an apartment building. (Which is kind of what he’s doing. He’s compartmentalizing so that Dean doesn’t have to. How thoughtful.)</p><p>All of that hard work, and Dean still ends up just barely functional.</p><p>Taking that into account, Chuck gives the newly edited Dean a test run anyway, and finds him to be (as expected)... less than satisfactory.</p><p>His movements and words are stilted, and Chuck had definitely made a few mistakes in the mental health department, because now Dean has enough newly resurfaced anxiety to kill a man, which is something Chuck thought that he had gotten rid of a few dozen edits ago. This edition of Dean is also prone to stuttering, which is something Chuck had <em>definitely</em> taken care of years ago. It doesn’t do for the epitome of masculinity to stutter, or have panic attacks.</p><p>Still, Dean 2.0 (well, at this point he’s closer to Dean 41.7) insists. Of course, Chuck can’t leave his favorite toy <em>broken,</em> so he tries to fix it.</p><p>Again.</p><p>Why can't anything ever be easy?</p><p>That round ends with Dean staring blankly at nothing and mumbling Enochian. It’s sad, really, how breakable Dean is——both mentally and physically. Chuck had tried to write out most of Dean’s mental issues early on, before the Winchesters had caught onto his meddling. But over time, and without proper maintenance, the walls hiding them have broken down somewhat, and the more Chuck tries to work around all of the feelings Dean has connected to Castiel, the more disastrous things seem to become. Castiel has managed to weave his presence into nearly every nook and cranny of Dean’s brain, and trying to cut the angel out of anything only makes Dean worse. That doesn’t stop Chuck from continuing to try, though.</p><p>What do people like to say?</p><p>If at first you don’t succeed...</p><p>Another edit results in Dean forgetting how to breathe, and well... that’s tricky to fix without killing Dean for good.</p><p>Yet another change shorts out Dean’s memory so entirely that he can’t remember his own name. Somehow, through all of that, he still manages to retain knowledge of Castiel's existence. It’s infuriating.</p><p>Chuck’s final overhaul results in Dean going deaf somehow, and that’s when Chuck decides to cut his losses and just shove Dean so far under that he can’t cause any more trouble. Then Chuck slips into a persona somewhat recognizable as Dean, and poses as Sam’s brother. Of course, the illusion is further solidified by the fact that he is manipulating Dean’s sad excuse for a body, rather than an improved version, which he would much prefer. The things he does for authenticity.</p><p>Sam doesn’t seem to notice the difference——or, at least, he’s so relieved to see ‘Dean’ recovering from his nearly suicidal grief that any imperfections in Chuck’s characterization are trivial. From there, Castiel is all but forgotten, and the real Dean doesn’t even bother trying to fight his way back to control. Chuck wonders if Dean is even close to mentally intact enough to fight. It doesn’t matter in the end, though, because he is no longer a problem.</p><p>But now Chuck is playing Dean, and it’s not as interesting as he had hoped it would be. It’s more tiring than anything, even for god, and far too intensive to be worth it, even if he does manage to rile Sam up a few times by mentioning Eileen's notable absence.</p><p>So Chuck decides to do what any rational person would, and makes plans to kill Dean.</p><p>He sets up a hunt. The concept is so stupid that he’s shocked Sam agrees to go on it (even though it’s really what Sam deserves after he brought up Castiel and Jack earlier), but he does all the same, and from there, everything falls into place.</p><p>They head out, kill some vampires, and Dean dies. It’s touching, really. Chuck even makes himself cry a little. The kicker is when he pushes the real Dean to awareness right before his tattered heart stops beating.</p><p>And Dean——oh, poor, poor Dean——dies in his brother’s arms, completely in the dark as to what’s happening, or how he got there. All he knows is that he can’t feel his legs, and that Sam is crying.</p><p>Chuck doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dean look so scared. In the few seconds that he’s back in control, all he seems to be able to do is attempt to focus on Sam’s teary face, and try to breathe as confused thoughts rattle around inside his fractured mind.</p><p>He tries to speak, and even though it’s a pitiful attempt that would most likely yield nothing of substance, Chuck fuses Dean’s jaw shut until he can’t even <em>think</em> of talking. By the time Dean’s jaw goes slack again, he’s so close to death it doesn’t matter, and his body’s small act of resignation only serves to make Sam cry harder.</p><p>The fear that courses through Dean’s broken body as he dies is delicious, and the raw sadness that comes from Sam is almost as entertaining. Really, it’s a shame that Chuck needs to store the boys in Heaven——they’re just so much fun to hurt.</p><p>Chuck retreats back to Heaven and leaves Sam a sobbing mess.</p><p>Two weeks later, Sam goes missing on a solo djinn hunt.</p><p>No one finds his body.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okie dokie, end chapter two! We'll get to Heaven next chapter, and the plot will really start to move.</p><p>Comments and kudos are very much appriciated!</p><p>See you soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Same damn time, same fucking place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean goes for a drive. </p><p>A very, very long drive.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello peeps! How is it? I thing I've got this thing capped out at 15 chapters, so now there's an end number, which is nice. Thanks for the comments and kudos so far, y'all rock!</p><p>The title for this chapter is lyrics from 'Everything is Awful' by The Taxpayers. The entire band rocks so I recommend you give them a listen.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“I think I’ll go for a drive.”</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>Well, Dean drives alright. He drives and drives and drives through Heaven with seemingly no end in sight. He doesn’t want to drive. He still barely understands how and why he came to be here. Pain, blood, Sam crying, and then... </p><p>Then this. Bobby telling him that he's dead, and sounding just slightly off about it. A mention of Cas, and of Jack, but no appearance from either of them. It's not like Dean deserves recognition from them, but their absence is slightly off-putting. And now he's alone in a car he knows better than himself, flying down a road he wants nothing to do with.</p><p>It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, though. Dean loves driving, he really does, but something about this feels artificial. Maybe that's just Heaven. None of it is real anymore, but it seems wrong somehow. It's the right thing to do, though. </p><p>
  <em>Is it?</em>
</p><p>Dean doesn’t know what the right thing to do is anymore.</p><p>So he keeps driving.</p><p>He doesn’t know if he can stop, and that scares him, but he’s not going to take his foot off of the accelerator to try. Somehow, he knows that the consequences from stopping will be far worse than eternal driving.</p><p>Dean is fully intent on avoiding any and all consequences, especially if it means he stays in control of his body. He thinks he knows what body-snatched him——what controlled him and fucked him up almost beyond the point of return——but he doesn’t go so far as to consciously think it.</p><p>Still, he thinks he knows.</p><p>Or, more rather, avoids thinking that he knows.</p><p>Maybe the constant driving is a good thing, now that Dean considers it. Driving keeps him moving; he’s not on the run exactly, but stopping feels dangerous.</p><p><em>Is </em>dangerous?</p><p>Dean doesn’t let himself think about it too clearly. Just in case.</p><p>He continues to drive. The road disappears under Baby (it’s not <em>really</em> baby, though), and more just keeps coming. Dean takes eight right turns in a row, but still manages to find new terrain. At least he’s getting the lay of the land.</p><p>The ever-changing, ever-inconsistent land. </p><p>Briefly, Dean wonders what happens if you die in Heaven.</p><p>Maybe he does more than wonder.</p><p>(Baby won’t let him crash, so he stops trying.)</p><p>***</p><p>Eventually, Dean reaches a bridge, and the car (he’s long since stopped thinking of it as Baby) stops. Dean finally makes himself take his foot off of the gas, though it doesn’t seem to matter, because the car had already killed the engine and put on its brakes, seemingly of its own accord.</p><p>Something tells Dean to step out of the car. He does, and looks off the edge of the bridge. Quietly, so subtly he’s hardly aware of his thoughts, he wonders what would happen if he jumped off. A low, nervous tug in his gut tells him to stop considering it.</p><p>Dean forces the dark thought down and makes himself picture something else: Miracle, Sam, Cas. </p><p>No. That’s a bad thought. He can’t think about Ca——</p><p>Dean thinks of Miracle, and when the gnawing fear in his stomach doesn’t disappear he stops thinking all together. It’s easier than one would think.</p><p>
  <strike> <em>Where’s Cas? Bobby had said he was here, so why didn’t he——</em> </strike>
</p><p>But then, suddenly, Sam is behind him, and Dean feels marginally better. At least he has his brother.</p><p>Still, he can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching him.</p><p>Someone who’s supposed to be gone.</p><p>***</p><p>Sam doesn’t talk much after initial greetings are exchanged. He’s not twitchy with worries and fear——not like Dean has come to be, anyway——but he’s quiet. Questions about his family go unanswered, and when he does answer, he never sounds sure of himself.</p><p>Especially when he tells Dean that he didn’t want to marry Eileen.</p><p>“It just didn’t seem right,” he says when Dean asks. I figured you’d want me to get out of the life, so I... I left.” The regret buried in Sam’s voice is so strong Dean can practically feel it. “I left her.” A lone beat of silence transpires before Sam speaks again.</p><p>"I left everyone."</p><p>“Sam, are you okay?” There are so many other things Dean wants to ask——<em>You thought </em>what?<em> Who did you marry? What happened to our real family?</em>——but that shallow, broad question is the only one that passes ‘inspection.’ He doesn’t even attempt to ask any others. It doesn’t feel safe to do so.</p><p>“Fine, I——just keep driving.”</p><p>Dean doesn’t think he could stop if he wanted to. He presses down on the accelerator, and the car rumbles down the road, bumping over small divots in the ground and purring as sweetly as if it had just rolled off the assembly line that day.</p><p>It’s a picture-perfect replica of something that Dean used to love doing.</p><p>But somehow, Heaven manages to ruin everything.</p><p>***</p><p>“D’you want to stop?” Dean asks, almost desperately. They’ve been driving since the bridge——Dean has no idea how long that has actually been, but it seems like a long time——and he has started to feel trapped. Ever since he had asked about Eileen, Sam has been quiet, too, which doesn’t help the mood. The only thing that has been breaking the thick tension of silence between Sam and Dean thus far is the radio, and even that has taken to fuzzing out in places.</p><p>Sam looks over at Dean, sporting the most hopeless expression that Dean has ever seen on his brother. He looks so lost——so tired——that it almost hurts Dean.</p><p>“I——I don’t know what I want.”</p><p>Sam doesn’t look like he knows anything at the moment, but Dean chooses not to comment on that. Instead, he takes a left turn, and rumbles further into the forest. The road decreases in quality, which isn’t entirely unusual, but before long, it’s reduced to a thin strip of dirt, far too narrow for some Heaven-illusion of Baby to drive down. Dean eases up off the gas.</p><p>The car speeds up.</p><p>Dean slams on the breaks, and that doesn’t change a thing. He turns to look at Sam, who has snapped out of his shitty-life induced crisis just in time to join Dean in wondering exactly what the fuck is going on when the radio (which Dean can’t remember turning on) fizzles into static, and the car screeches to a halt.</p><p>Sam is thrown forward, almost through the windshield, and Dean just about impales himself on the wheel. He wheezes as the breath is knocked out of him, and vision blackens at the loss of air. (Which is stupid<em>,</em> because Dean is <em>dead</em>, and he shouldn’t need to breathe.) He turns his head to look at Sam, who is also gasping for breath.</p><p>“What——what happened?” Sam asks as he lifts his hand to a red mark on his neck from where the seatbelt had cut into him. “Dean?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>There are a lot of things that Dean doesn’t know, and a lot of things that he can’t let himself know.</p><p>Making doubly sure that the breaks are on, Dean turns the car off, and tries to catch his breath. He shivers, despite the heat of the ‘day,’ and unclips his seatbelt.</p><p>“Damnit,” he groans, coughing. “Where the hell are we?”</p><p>“Heaven.” Sam says flatly. He tips his head back against the headrest and sighs heavily.</p><p>“No shit.” Dean sighs. <em>“Where</em> in Heaven?”</p><p>Sam gives him a look, and Dean dimly realizes that Sam’s eyes are the only thing he can feel watching him.</p><p>Almost on instinct, Dean thinks of Cas.</p><p>There’s no pushback. Dean thinks harder.</p><p><em>Cas,</em> he prays, though some small part of him knows that Cas will probably never hear it. <em>It’s been a while. I’m sorry I didn’t pray earlier, I just...</em> Dean thinks back to the rest of his time in Heaven, then to what he can remember of what had happened after Chuck. <em>I’ve been busy.</em></p><p>(Of course, it wasn’t really ‘after’ Chuck, was it?)</p><p>
  <em>I’ve been scared.</em>
</p><p>“Dean——did the road look like that earlier?”</p><p>Dean is snapped out of his prayer by Sam’s worried and confused voice. He looks at the path——</p><p>That’s a road. More than wide enough for the car to drive down. That wasn’t how it had been earlier.</p><p>Wait. How had it been?</p><p>Dean’s head is suddenly too numb to finish his thought. A weird, spicy-fuzzy heat runs though him, and he shudders.</p><p>“That’s different,” he says quietly, trying to avoid stuttering. He pulls on the door handle, but it stays locked fast.</p><p>The car starts.</p><p>Something is<em> very</em> wrong here.</p><p>Dean keeps his foot on the break, and his hands off the wheel, but that doesn’t stop the car from rolling forward just as if Dean was driving it.</p><p>That’s not normal. That’s not right. Familiar, warm dread settles in Dean’s chest, and he glances over at Sam to see his brother sporting an expression that looks not much different from how Dean feels.</p><p>
  <em>Cas, if you can hear this, we need——</em>
</p><p>Dean feels his head snap back hard enough to shatter bone, and then all he knows is darkness.</p><p>***</p><p>Somewhere in the endless darkness, Cas’ eyes fly open.</p><p>
  <em>Dean.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And there you have it! The next chapter will be up in 3-4 days, or maybe sooner if I get a bit too excited about posting it :)<br/>Comments and kudos would be super rad and greatly appreciated!</p><p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Mile Marker 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean is told to drive, so he drives.</p><p>And drives. </p><p>And drives.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Dean, you need to——“</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>“Damnit.”</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>“Too much blood——“</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>“Jack! Jack, I need he——“</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t know what else to do."</em>
</p><p>***</p><p><em>“Jack </em>please! <em>I can’t——“</em></p><p>***</p><p>It’s dark when Dean wakes up, which is the first sign of trouble.</p><p>He’s been in Heaven for——well, who knows how long——and in all that time, it’s always been sunny and clear. Right now, it’s dark as pitch, and when Dean manages to force his eyes to open, the night sky is covered in smoke-black clouds. He takes a shaky breath, and tastes copper in the back of his throat.</p><p>“Ssssssam?” He slurs, still attempting to bring his body completely online. “Sam, whasss——“ he rolls to his side and vomits blood all over the floor of the car. “Wh-what happened?” His arm twitches up to his throbbing chest, and he moans in pain.</p><p>Everything is still bleary, and Dean can’t even <em>see</em> Sam, but he has to be here, because there’s no way to get out of the car that Dean knows of. At the thought of the car, Dean realizes something else: the car is moving. Slowly, but it’s still <em>moving,</em> and Dean isn’t driving, despite being in the driver’s seat——albeit sprawled, broken, and bloody.</p><p>“Dean, you’re back.” Sam sounds relived, but also oddly subdued.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m——ughh.” Dean forces his aching, weak-feeling body into a sitting position, and leans against the driver’s side door. He swallows roughly, grimacing at the all too familiar taste of blood in his cottony mouth. It feels like something has reached into his chest and rearranged all of his organs. Everything hurts, and his head is no exception. “What happened?” He asks again.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Sam says. He’s sitting opposite of Dean, and his legs are bunched in an uncomfortable-looking fashion so that Dean has enough space to be laying the way he had been until a couple moments ago. “I asked you about the road,” he gestures at the now more-than-wide-enough road they’re driving down. “You were kind of spaced out, and then your head snapped back and you——you——I don’t know if you died, or...” Sam trails off, pale and small-sounding. “There was so much blood. It was everywhere.”</p><p>Well, now Dean knows what happens when he thinks about something he’s not supposed to hard enough for someone to notice.</p><p>He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket, and it comes away wet and dark with blood. Whatever did this to him <em>(you know what it is, don’t lie) </em>pretty much juiced him. He looks back to the road, and settles into the driver’s seat the way he should: confident and relaxed. Sam gives him a worried look.</p><p>“What’re you doing?”</p><p>Dean makes himself smile and ignores the blood caked to his hair, face, and body. “Driving.” He turns the radio on, relaxes into the road, and lets it guide him. “I like it.”</p><p>He just needs to play his part.</p><p>***</p><p>Hours (days? Weeks?) later Dean is firmly set in a pattern of turning when prompted, and speeding up when he’s told. Sam hasn’t uttered a word in ages, and the radio continues to blare Zeppelin loud enough to hurt. Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to listen to Kashmir again without wanting to throw up.</p><p>At some point, Dean stops thinking about anything but driving. Left turn; right turn; a circle that lead somewhere it shouldn’t. Dean doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t question it. All he does is drive.</p><p>It's not like he's permitted to do anything else.</p><p>Then they come to a fork in the road. Something tells Dean to take a right, so he banks hard to the left before the car can correct him, and that’s when everything goes haywire.</p><p>Again.</p><p>The radio cuts out, as does the engine, and the car slides to a rubber-burning stop amid an oddly glitchy looking wave of dust.</p><p>Dean turns to look at Sam, dead seriousness on his still-bloodied face. “We need to get out of the car.”</p><p>The doors are locked——of course they are——but Dean’s paranoia is routine enough that Heaven has manifested a gun in the (thankfully unlocked) glove compartment. Dean blasts the lock until is snaps, and the door falls open. He kicks it until the hinge breaks, and scrambles out on heavy limbs.</p><p>The ground is cool and grassy, a stark contrast to the stuffiness of the car, and Dean collapses on top of it with a wheezy sigh. “Out,” he barks at Sam, who practically launches himself out of the car once prompted.</p><p>Dean turns towards his brother, shaking life a leaf, and whispers: “something is very wrong here.”</p><p>Sam nods tersely and looks around at the dilapidated area. “Should we call Jack?” He bites his lip and looks around again. “He’d want to know.”</p><p>“No.” Dean shakes his head. “No. Whatever you do, don’t call Jack.” He breathes as deeply as he can in an attempt to get rid of the ever-present taste of fresh blood in his mouth. He’s bleeding again. They don’t have much time. “Because that thing——what you think is Jack——it ain’t him.”</p><p>“Dean, what are you——“</p><p>“Think about it,” Dean says quietly, keeping his eyes on the road. “He’d have made Heaven better than this. We’ve just been driving, ever since you got here——ever since <em>I</em> got here, all I’ve done is drive. And I can’t stop. The only reason we’re out now is because I caught——caught <em>him</em> off guard.”</p><p>Sam’s eyes are bright with a level of fear Dean hasn’t seen in a long time. “Him?”</p><p>“Chuck.”</p><p>Sam shakes his head. “Chuck is gone. Jack beat him——you <em>saw</em> it. He’s gone.” The shake in Sam’s voice betrays the certainty of his words.</p><p>“If he was gone, why did our lives go the way they did?” Dean asks. “You married some chick whose name you can’t remember, got out of the life to ‘honor me,’ and I——I don’t even know how I died, Sam!” Dean can’t keep his hands steady. “I don’t——I don’t know how I died. C-C-Cas won’t see us, and I can’t stop driving!” Tears track their way down Dean’s cheeks and cut lines through the dried blood on his face as he speaks. “I can’t talk about this. I <em>couldn’t,</em> because otherwise——fuck.” Dean raises a hand to his face, and fresh blood coats his fingers. “T-this is why I’m not supposed to think about it. This is what happens if I do.”</p><p>Sam takes a shaky breath. He looks almost as overwhelmed as he feels. “And this is because——”</p><p>“Not here,” Dean hisses, his words gritty and pained. “Away from the road. The further, the better.” He stumbles to his feet, and starts limping away from the car. Whatever Chuck did to Dean fucked with his entire body, not just his head this time.</p><p>Sam follows, shell-shocked.</p><p>The woods get thicker as they walk, and the pain in Dean’s leg lessens slightly. Then it gos almost completely numb, so that could mean it’s getting worse. Knowing his luck, that probably means it’s getting worse.</p><p>“You really think it’s Chuck?” Sam asks after they’ve been walking for a while.</p><p>“Who else?”</p><p>***</p><p>Chuck Shurley is pissed, to put it lightly.</p><p>Sam and Dean are <em>dead—— </em>both of them, and with no angel to assist them, they should stay that way. They should just sit quietly in Heaven, and do what Chuck tells them because that’s what is supposed to make them <em>happy.</em></p><p>Chuck is not a cruel person. All he wants is for Sam and Dean to be happy, which is why he <strike>forced Dean onto</strike> gave Dean an endless road to drive on, and that’s why he gave Sam his perfect life (even if it <em>was</em> actually a djinn’s poison that did the work). They’re his favorite characters——some of his most treasured, entertaining creations——why wouldn’t he want them to be happy?</p><p>Still, for whatever reason, Sam and Dean refuse to be happy. They refuse to be satisfied with what Chuck offers them, and that makes Chuck angry.</p><p>Regardless of current circumstances, and no matter how secure Heaven seems, Chuck can’t let the Winchesters roam free, so he does his best to keep them on a pre-approved path until he can cook up something else to occupy them. John and Mary are a good second step, Chuck thinks. The boys need to spend more time with their parents.</p><p>But for now...</p><p>They’re driving, just as Chuck had left them. Dean has proven to be very cooperative since Chuck knocked him out for thinking about Cas. No, it hadn’t been thinking——Dean had been<em> praying.</em> </p><p>He really never gives up, does he? Endurance has never been such an annoying character trait.</p><p>The incident had resulted in more blood than Chuck had expected, but you can’t have two perfectly obedient Winchesters without cracking their skulls a few dozen times. And since then, Sam and Dean haven’t tripped any of Chuck’s censors, so it must have worked.</p><p>No thoughts of Cas. Nothing bad.</p><p>Chuck can only hope it lasts, too, because Jack has made himself known, and that means that he has started whining again. Even though he’s pitifully weak compared to Chuck, he’s <em>persistent,</em> and refuses to shut up and die like he is supposed to.</p><p>Like fathers, like son.</p><p>
  <em>“Let me out!”</em>
</p><p>——there he is again.</p><p>
  <em>“Let me out, you son of a bitch!”</em>
</p><p>Trying to act like Dean. Adorable.</p><p>Chuck ignores him, and plans another section of Sam and Dean’s never ending route. Left; right; circle; right.</p><p>Dean does as he’s told.</p><p>Left.</p><p>Right.</p><p>Circle.</p><p>Something attacks Chuck from behind, and he has just enough time to see Dean turn left before his vision is obscured by his ‘grandson.’</p><p>His very, very angry ‘grandson.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading so far, and I hope you come back for the next chapter! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :3</p><p>See y'all in a few days!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. And don't forget son, there is someone up above (he's a dick)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The boys go hiking. That's normal, nothing weird there--</p><p>Oh. Okay. Well, they're hiking through heaven but whatever.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this was supposed to be posted yesterday but things happened, and now here we are. This was originally split into two chapters, and there was an extra subplot I took out, so they needed to be combined. I'm not the happiest with how this turned out, so I'll go back and edit it later.</p><p>Okay peeps, let's GOOOOOOOOOOOO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack attacking comes as a slight shock, but it isn’t too much trouble to take care of in the long run. A couple well placed blows to the head, and shrinking the room that Jack is in until there's no space to move works wonders. Still, by the time that Chuck forces Jack into sleeping, he’s completely lost track of Sam and Dean.</p><p>Dean took the wrong turn, and they left the car behind——<em>how?</em> Chuck had locked the doors——but now all he can see is an Impala with a broken door, and a muddy smear on the ground where one of the brothers must have fallen. Other than that, the Winchesters have vanished without a trace.</p><p>
  <em>Damnit.</em>
</p><p>But Chuck <em>created</em> the Winchesters. He had controlled them for years. He’ll be able to figure out their next course of action easily enough, right?</p><p>Right. Simple.</p><p>***</p><p>“Purgatory?”</p><p>“Yeah, purgatory.”</p><p>“Dean, why the hell would you <em>want</em> to go to purgatory?”</p><p>“Because,” Dean growls as he whacks away a shrub. “If we get to purgatory, we’re <em>out</em> of here, and we can get back to earth from there.” Dean trips over his feet and grabs onto a tree for support. Sam winces in sympathy. “And once we’re back on earth, we can nuke Chuck’s ass for real.”</p><p>“Dean——“</p><p>“If there’s a way to get to Hell from Purgatory, there’s gotta be a way to get to Purgatory from Heaven.” Dean says quickly, then huffs out an exhausted breath. “There’s back doors everywhere, what’s different about this?”</p><p>Sam grabs the shoulder of Dean’s jacket and stops his brother in his tracks. “Purgatory is where Chuck put his worst mistakes! Why would he give them a chance to sneak into Heaven?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” Dean leans back against a tree. “I don’t know——okay!” His eyes are shiny, worried, and bloodshot. “There's always a door, though, and I know that I’m grasping as straws here, but I need——I need <em>something</em> to hold onto, <em>something</em> to look for, because if I don’t, I have no idea what to do.” His breath hitches. “I don’t know." His eyes go shiny with tears. "I’m... I’m sick of not knowing.” A shiver makes him curl into himself. “There’s gotta be something. Some way to get out of here. There——there’s gotta.”</p><p>Sam nods slightly. The desperate, almost broken look on Dean’s face scares him, and he remembers something Dean had said a few minutes ago, which worries him further.</p><p>“What did you mean when you said you don’t remember how you died?”</p><p>Dean freezes. “I don’t remember. That’s what I friggin’ mean.” He crosses his arms. “The last things I remember are drinking until passed out, and a helluva lot of pain. Then the next thing I knew, I had metal bar though my chest and my lungs were filled with blood.” He shrugs, eyes dark. “I guess Chuck put me under for a while. No clue for how long, though.”</p><p>Sam sucks in a harsh breath, thinking back to the time between Chuck’s supposed defeat and Dean’s death. “A few months, at least. I thought you were acting weird for a few days, and then...” He squinted, thinking. “You were happier than I had seen you in ages. I guess that was someone else, though.”</p><p>Dean huffs. “What a dick.” He sighs and blinks away the last of his tears. He pulls a knife out of his jacket——old, paranoid habits are proving more useful than they should be——flips the blade to his palm, and holds the handle out to Sam.</p><p>“I think I have a plan. Can you do a scrying spell with this?”</p><p>Sam takes the knife and nods.</p><p>***</p><p>Cas has never felt so cold in his life.</p><p>He’s shivering and shaking and everything hurts so badly that he wants to scream, but his jaw feels welded shut. And he’s tried. God, he’s so tired.</p><p>Somehow, he forces himself into a sitting position, and tries to stand. It doesn’t work. His legs are numb, and his head is far too cloudy to force them to cooperate.</p><p>He needs to stay awake, though. He can’t go to sleep. He can’t let the shadow win any more than it already has.</p><p>He has to hear Dean’s next prayer. He has to make sure that Dean is oka——</p><p>Cas is sucked back down into darkness before he can finish that thought.</p><p>***</p><p>“This is bullshit,” Dean grumbles, not for the first time. His dull, tired eyes scan the forest as he talks. “All these damn trees look the same.” He sighs. “Couldn’t Chuck have stuck the door in a more <em>unique</em> place?”</p><p>Sam scowls in Dean’s direction. “The trees don’t all look the same.”</p><p>That’s a lie. Every single tree in the forest is almost identical, which only serves to help Chuck in the long run, Sam supposes. The more confused him and Dean are, the easier it will be for Chuck to take them out (again).</p><p>“Yes they do.” Dean stops and points at a knot on the tree to his left. Then he points to an indistinguishable knot on the tree to his right. “Exactly.”</p><p>Sam runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Maybe you’re right. But we can still use this. The scrying spell showed a weird looking tree, right? That should be easy to pick out.”</p><p>“Doesn’t mean it’ll be easy to find.”</p><p>Dean forges ahead again, his feet tapping softly over the thick bed of pine needles. Despite not needing to sleep, he feels dead <em>(ha)</em> tired, and wants nothing more than to find a spot safe enough to rest. No where seems safe, though.</p><p>It’s never safe anymore. Maybe it never was.</p><p>He keeps walking.</p><p>***</p><p>How is it possible for a deity——<em>the</em> deity——<em>god</em>——to lose two people in a place of his own creation?</p><p>Very possible, apparently, because Chuck has. Sam and Dean, despite all of Chuck’s attempts to find them, seem to have completely vanished.</p><p>Of course, Chuck hasn’t had time to map out and place surveillance on every inch of Heaven, but he should at least be able to <em>sense</em> them.</p><p>All of that aside, Chuck had been keeping very good tabs on Sam and Dean.</p><p><em>Had</em> been.</p><p>And then Jack had fucked that all up.</p><p>Stupid kid. He should have known better, because now Chuck was going to smite the little shit so hard that there wouldn’t be any of him left for Heaven and the empty to fight over. But, like all ‘Winchesters,’ Jack was stubborn, and steadfastly refused to die when Chuck insisted he needed to, or shut up when he was asked.</p><p>Jack can be ignored, though. He can be, and he will be, because he needs to be for Chuck to find his missing toys.</p><p>And Chuck will find them. Even if he needs to tear apart the perfect Heaven that he has set up for them to do it.</p><p>***</p><p>Somewhere in Heaven——both Dean and Sam have long since lost track of where——there’s a tree. Huge, wide, and rotted through the center. A hole in the trunk is just large enough for Sam to squeeze through. It’s what the scrying spell had shown them, and they run through it without a second thought.</p><p>It’s colder on the other side. Colder, but somehow still muggy, but it’s more homey than Heaven. It’s where they need to be, and even with all of the monsters there that certainly have blood out for Sam and Dean, it feels miles safer than Heaven.</p><p>Funny how that stuff works.</p><p>***</p><p>Dean had been frustrated with the amount of trees in Heaven, but purgatory is no better. It’s worse, actually, because it’s <em>entirely</em> forest, and maybe it’s because of his previous experiences in Purgatory, but Dean can’t stand large amounts of nature for too long.</p><p>However, also due to his past experiences in Purgatory, Dean knows the place like the back of his hand, and that means he knows exactly how to find the door back to earth. Or, well, he should.</p><p>Whether he does or doesn’t know, Dean will find out where the door is eventually. That, or he’ll punch monsters until they tell him where it is.</p><p>He doesn’t really have any other options.</p><p>***</p><p>Purgatory is eerily empty.</p><p>Normally (as if anything about visiting Purgatory is <em>normal</em>) the place is crawling with monsters——it is their home, after all——but today (tonight, this week. Year. Who knows?) it’s empty, and quiet as a crypt. That’s a completely accurate statement, too, because Dean knows crypts better than the average person.</p><p>At least the landscape is slightly more diverse. The trees are different, and everything seems more natural. More wild.</p><p>Uncontrolled.</p><p>Because Chuck couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about Purgatory. To Chuck, Purgatory is nothing more than a dumping ground for things he regrets, which is the exact reason it's safe. </p><p>They’re not going to be stuck here for long, though. Just so long as Dean remembers the way, that is. All the same, Purgatory <em>has</em> changed a bit since Dean was there last. Or maybe he’s in a different spot.</p><p>Damnit. Dean hates the outdoors.</p><p>Is Purgatory even technically outside? Dean shrugs the question off and concentrates on pushing forward.</p><p>One doesn’t exactly get tired in Purgatory, but Dean feels like he’s losing energy by the second. Every step seems to make his limbs heavier and heavier, but he ignores it. What matters now is finding the door back and, by default, earth.</p><p>Sam has apparently noticed the absence of monsters, or, at the very least, become concerned enough about it to point it out, because that’s exactly what he does.</p><p>“It’s quiet.”</p><p>“Mmm-hmm.”</p><p>“Do you think they’re scared?”</p><p>Dean looks over at Sam. “Of Chuck? He doesn’t touch this place.”</p><p>“Of us.”</p><p>Dean shrugs. “Probably.”</p><p>***</p><p>It’s not that Purgatory has changed, so much that it’s just really friggin’ huge, and Dean is noticing for the first time just how big it is. Pretty much every other time that he’s been here, he’s ended up losing and/or looking for Cas, and distance has seemed trivial with Cas’ life on the line. This time, however, there is no such motivation, so the journey drags on at an almost painfully slow pace.</p><p>Well, there’s Sam. That’s motivation enough to keep Dean moving, at least. If nothing else, Dean will carry on for his family. It’s been the only thing that’s kept him going in times before, and Dean knows he’ll have to rely on them again. Well, <em>him.</em> Sam is all that Dean has left now.</p><p>Dean can be loyal to a fault, and more often than not, it’s been... Dean won’t say helpful, but it’s kept him alive before. It’s also killed him in separate situations, but hasn’t everything at one point or another?</p><p>That’s just a day in the life of a Winchester, though. Death around every corner, sometimes literally. Sometimes she’s banging on the door, ready to kill you and one of the only people you’ve ever loved, just because you couldn’t kill her first.</p><p>But Dean isn’t thinking about that. He can’t let himself. He’ll get himself and Sam out of here first, than he’ll cry over Cas and drink himself into oblivion.</p><p>It’s an admirable goal.</p><p>Enough to keep Dean moving, at least.</p><p>***</p><p>Night never falls in purgatory. Not really, anyway. It just becomes more and more dusky, and eventually lightens back to a disgustingly overcast sky. There’s no sun, no warmth either, just cold, greyish misery.</p><p>At the moment, purgatory is at its darkest, and the whole landscape is awash in gray. It’s like a crappy black and white movie, and it might as well be from the silent era, because it’s quiet as a tomb, and has been for hours.</p><p>It continues to be so for several more, and Dean doesn’t mind that. He doesn’t think he could talk if he tried.</p><p>***</p><p>It makes sense that Sam and Dean would flee to purgatory, Chuck muses.</p><p>The order of the universe is natural: monsters with monsters, mistakes with mistakes. Of course Sam and Dean would want to be among things like themselves.</p><p>Sighing, Chuck boards up the door between Heaven and Purgatory as best he can. He hadn’t wanted things to turn out like this, but maybe it was time that Sam and Dean be retired even from <em>Heaven.</em> It was clear that something in the deepest part of their makeup was broken, or corrupted. It had to be corrupted. Chuck doesn’t write mistakes into his creations anymore. He’s learned since Castiel.</p><p>***</p><p>Dean mimes dusting his hands off in grim satisfaction as he presents the long sought-after portal to Sam.</p><p>“Ladies first,” he says, surprised at himself for being able to sound as calm as he does.</p><p>“Jerk.”</p><p>“Bitch.”</p><p>Sam walks through the door anyway. Dean follows, a smug grin on his face as he passes through the portal.</p><p>Which, of course, is when his entire body explodes in pain.</p><p>***</p><p>A wide, sick smile crosses Chuck’s face as one of his sensors is pinged. The Winchesters have been found.</p><p>But not in Heaven. On earth.</p><p>It’s no matter. Chuck has beaten them there once, and he can do it again. This is just another speed bump.</p><p>That thought in mind, Chuck attacks.</p><p>He’s not going to kill the Winchesters immediately, but he’ll be damned if he’s not going to make them suffer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank's for reading, comments and kudos appreciated!</p><p>See y'all in a few days!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Help I'm Alive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam and Dean are back on earth, much to Chuck's irritation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm here! To anyone still reading this: I meant to update yesterday. Sorry :(</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Dean’s chest burns, his lungs are filled with blood——he’s dying he’s dying he’s </em>dying<em> and he can’t——</em></p><p>No.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not dying, and his lungs are not filled with blood. He’s not bleeding out in a middle-of-nowhere barn with a piece of metal through his spine.</p><p>In a dramatic sun of events, Dean Winchester is not dying. He is simply in an almost unimaginable amount of pain.</p><p>He clinches his fists, ripping grass from the earth——he’s on the ground, outside——and chokes out a pitiful howl. Vision ringed with red and black, Dean makes a valiant attempt to blink away the pain, and fails miserably.</p><p>“Sam,” he gasps around the splintering agony encompassing his entire body. “Sam, are——are you okay?”</p><p>Pained groaning is Sam’s only response.</p><p>A bone-scraping shout tears its way from Dean’s throat. Everything hurts so terribly, and he scrambles for the knife in his back pocket. He needs blood. If he has blood, he can use it to draw the sigils designed to hide someone from god, and maybe——<em>maybe</em>——they’ll work. They have to, because otherwise, Dean is going right back to where he came from, and he has a feeling it won’t be pretty.</p><p><em>This was such a bad idea,</em> he thinks as he slices his hand open. He barely notices the sting, what with the other various sources of stabbing pain all over his body, but he knows that he cut too deep and his hand is gonna hurt like a bitch later. That is, if he survives.</p><p>Eyes not quite focused, Dean cups his bleeding palm, and crawls over to where Sam is curled on the ground. Haphazard lines and squiggles start to cross Sam’s agonized, twitching body as Dean scrawls sigil after sigil on his brother in an attempt to hide him from whatever the fuck Chuck has thrown their way this time.</p><p>It’s five minutes, and an untold number of sigils before Sam stops shaking. He manages to open his eyes——wide and scared——and makes a confused noise.</p><p>Dean takes that as his cue to collapse completely, and pass the hell out.</p><p>***</p><p>There is no way that the Winchesters could have escaped <em>again,</em> and yet, they have. Warding, no doubt. But at least Chuck has a general idea of where they are. He would have had more certain location if Jack hadn’t been so loud, but such are grandchildren. Always messing with plans and ruining what would be an otherwise peaceful retirement. </p><p>It’s no matter, though.</p><p>Chuck will take care of the Winchesters once and for all——he’ll throw them into the empty, next to the angel, where they belong——and then he’ll go about ridding himself of of Jack.</p><p>This time, it’ll tie itself up tidily.</p><p>No more loose ends.</p><p>***</p><p>Dean wakes up covered in sigils. Sticky, drying blood coats his arms, neck and chest in intricate swirls and clean lines, and a lumpy, rusty-springed mattress is doing its best not to squeak underneath Dean's weight. So, he's in a bed. A crappy motel bed, but it’s still better than the ground had been.</p><p>Every inch of his body is on fire, but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s going to drop dead at any moment. Small mercies.</p><p>Dean sits up, immediately regrets the decision, and makes a half pitiful, half scared noise of discontent. He blinks away the fuzziness at the edges of his vision, and looks around.</p><p>There’s a busted-looking TV, a wobbly side table, and a second, unused bed in the room. Adjacent to the second bed is a tiny bathroom, and Sam dozing unintentionally in the doorway. Well, Dean assumes that it’s unintentionally, because no one in their right mind would sleep in the doorway of a bathroom at a motel that charges sixty dollars a night.</p><p>Dean wobbles to his feet and carefully steps over Sam before he politely heaves his guts up into the green<em> (green!?)</em> toilet.</p><p>That wakes Sam up, and Sam (being the horrifically traumatized person that he is) almost punches a hole in the wall in an effort to——to——</p><p>Dean’s not exactly sure what Sam’s trying to do, but it doesn’t work, because all Sam does is swear loudly. Dean clutches his aching head, and curses whoever made coming back to life so difficult.</p><p>(Probably Chuck. What a dick.)</p><p>“Morning to you, too,” Dean grumbles, wiping his mouth on his blood-crusted jacket. His head is pounding worse than any hangover he’s ever had, and his stomach is about ready to revolt again, even though there’s nothing in it.</p><p>He steps over Sam again, and glances at the clock as he walks over to the grimy window. 10:30 at night. Not exactly morning, but whatever. At least Dean needs to pay attention to time now, because he’s <em>alive.</em> Alive and breathing, in... somewhere. Dean hopes they’re still in America, at least.</p><p>“Where are we?”</p><p>Sam groans from the floor, and sits up straight. His spine cracks like a firework, and he winces. “Dakota?”</p><p>“Which one?”</p><p>“North?” Sam groans in pain as he stands up, and runs his hands through his tangled hair. It falls perfectly into order, and Dean wonders (not for the first time) if Sam has magic hair. “I don’t know for sure; I was kind of busy saving you.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Dean sighs, waving Sam off. “Better question: <em>when</em> are we?”</p><p>***</p><p>They’re about a month from when Dean died, as it turns out. That’s kind of friggin’ weird, though, seeing as Sam has about forty years of memories that say <em>‘um, no. It’s been forty years.’</em></p><p>Than again, most of Sam’s memories seem pretty spacey and weird, so anything is possible.</p><p>And, of all the possible things, Dean is currently leaning against the outside wall of a building in a grimy alley, covered in blood, and waiting for Sam to emerge from the sketchy convenience store. Sam had taken all of the money they had, and run in to get the basics: food, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and first aid supplies. He had chosen himself over Dean, because Dean was more than mostly drenched in blood in various states of drying, and dirt.</p><p>That——apparently——is not a good look, and will probably get him arrested, so he’s staying in the alleyway and awaiting his brother’s return. That, and wondering what the actual hell has happened since Chuck speared him through the spine.</p><p>Obviously, a lot.</p><p>Baby is missing, for one. As is Miracle, and that freaks Dean out more that he cares to admit. He’s never been a dog person, but the idea of losing <em>one</em> more thing almost sends him over the edge for the umpteenth time this week. (day, month. Whatever the fuck.)</p><p>Dean is so, <em>so</em> tired of losing things he cares about. Unironically and unintentionally, Dean's thoughts drift back to Cas. He hopes that if Cas is asleep, and that the empty isn’t torturing him too badly. He knows he shouldn’t imagine Cas as simply sleeping, because there is no way that the empty would just let him <em>sleep.</em> Realistically, the most that Dean can hope for is that Cas is hanging in there.</p><p>After a moment, he realizes that he has been praying all of this. Maybe some of it will reach. Not for the first time, Dean wishes that prayers were a two way communication system.</p><p>
  <em>I miss you, Cas. We’re out of Heaven now, but things aren’t... they aren’t good.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>See you soon. I hope.</em>
</p><p>And with that, Sam comes out of the store, bags swinging from his arms, just in time to distract Dean from his impending mental breakdown.</p><p>“Time to go?” Dean asks, and by that he means<em> ‘time to steal a car?’</em> He’s been eyeing the ‘65 fastback mustang across the street for the past ten minutes for that specific reason. Honestly, Dean is just glad there’s a decent car in the immediate area, because——even freshly returned from the dead, and with an angry god on his back——Dean Winchester is <em>not</em> going to drive a damn KIA.</p><p>Sam nods, and Dean starts for the mustang. It’s time to go home.</p><p>Sam (the bitch) stops him, and Dean ends up hot-wiring a 2015 KIA, because what the hell is his life.</p><p>But hey, at least he has a life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dun-dun-dunnnn!</p><p>Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated and will be kept in a little zip-lock baggie for me to snack on when I need some serotonin!</p><p>See y'all soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Blue Jays</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The boys come home, and Dean makes the mistake of dreaming.</p><p>Cas just wishes that the empty would stop playing with him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'M BACK. Sorry. Time is fucked, bro. Thank you for all the comments on the last chapter, and sorry for my downer of an author's note on that one. I was kind of down then :)</p><p>Chapter title is also the title of a song by Daze 'N Daze which fucking slaps and you should totally go give it a listen.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cas wakes up to muffled words. He can’t make them out exactly, but the voice sounds like Dean’s, and helps ground Cas, if only a little.</p><p><em>'Things aren’t good,' </em>is the only thing that Cas hears clearly before the connection abruptly cuts off, and a shadow-shrouded figure appears in front of him. Without a doubt, it’s the empty. Cas goes to take a step back, but finds himself glued to the spot.</p><p>“You shouldn’t be awake,” the entity growls in a voice eerily similar to Dean’s.</p><p>It reaches out, and Cas can’t move as it presses its palm to his forehead. A peaceful, numb coolness spreads throughout Cas’ body, and his eyes roll back into his head. Cas can feel himself dropping to his knees, and then he knows no more.</p><p>***</p><p>The bunker is cold and empty when Sam and Dean arrive, but it’s <em>home.</em></p><p>It’s familiar, even darkened and slightly dusty. Blood-tacky and entirely wrung-out, the Winchesters stumble into the bunker, and it takes everything Dean has not to collapse right then and there. Sam looks exhausted, too: eyes are ringed with dark, his hair is frizzy (which <em>never</em> happens), and the blood striped across his skin doesn’t help him look composed in the slightest.</p><p>If Dean was able, he’d keep Sam out of this, but Sam is just as entrenched in this battle as Dean, and they need to stick together if they want to survive, let alone make another attempt at killing Chuck.</p><p>Which they are definitely going to do.</p><p>For real this time.</p><p>(Besides, it’s not like they have any other options.)</p><p>All Dean wants is for the things he cares about to be safe. Still, here he is: with a recently un-dead brother, a son <em>(not your kid)</em> possessed by god, and...</p><p>And Cas.</p><p>Or, more rather: without Cas, who is trapped in the empty for eternity. Cas, who died for Dean, without knowing that Dean loves him back.</p><p>Dean watches Sam walk into the main part of the bunker, and checks the garage’s locks for the third time before he follows his brother into the empty shell of the place he calls home.</p><p>***</p><p>They spend the better part of three hours warding the walls of the bunker from anything and everything. Sigils and symbols from every religion are scattered across the outside door, and the molding of every entryway.</p><p>Once they’re sure that Chuck can’t find them, Sam takes off for the showers to wash away all of the blood that he’s accumulated throughout Heaven, Purgatory, and earth. Dean decides to hit the books, and only stops when Sam practically drags his half catatonic body out of the library and forces him to clean up.</p><p>Dean doesn't have it in him to fight against it.</p><p>***</p><p>Dean feels numb. Hollow. Broken.</p><p>Like he had before Chuck broke him for the last time. Before Chuck had tried to ‘fix’ him and just ended up tossing the whole thing out.</p><p>He feels... he <em>feels.</em> That’s what’s important. For the first time in a while——Dean has no idea how long, exactly——Dean is feeling the way he should. Sad, yes; angry, yes; empty, yes. But he’s free to feel the way he wants to.</p><p>He’s entirely in control of himself for one of the first times in his life, and it <em>hurts.</em></p><p>It hurts so badly, and it makes Dean want to rip his hair out. It makes him want to howl and punch the wall until his hands are nothing more than torn skin, blood, and bone.</p><p>Dean doesn’t do that, though. Instead, what he does is curl up on his bed, and let his tears soak into the mattress until he passes out.</p><p>***</p><p>Dean hadn't meant to fall asleep.</p><p>He hadn’t wanted to. He had needed to, but he shouldn’t have, because sleeping means dreaming, and dreaming means that Dean can’t escape what he want himself to see.</p><p>And what he wants to see——<em>who</em> he wants to see——is Cas.</p><p>So he scrabbles his way back to some kind of awareness in the dark, desolate vacuum of what his brain assumes the empty would look like. If there’s one good thing about dreams, it’s that in them Dean can say things he never could otherwise. Things that he's not brave enough to say in real life.</p><p>“Cas?”</p><p>The name echoes off of nothingness, reverberating back to Dean, and eventually fading to nothingness from there. Dean calls out again, walking forward, straining for any sign of Cas. It’s not real, but right now he needs to see Cas more than anything.</p><p>Even if it's fake, at least it's something.</p><p>***</p><p>This time, Cas wakes to Dean calling his name. A quick glance at his surroundings reveals nothing but endless darkness in every direction. It figures. Of course it’s not actually Dean. Dean wouldn’t come for him after...</p><p>After everything.</p><p>“Cas!”</p><p>***</p><p>Cas appears seemingly out of nowhere. He looks tired——exhausted, actually——and a bit miserable, but Dean has never been more happy to dream about him. Cas looks around like he can’t see Dean, and slouches into himself. The shadows of the empty creep into his eyes, darkening them and draining them of their formally hopeful shine.</p><p>None of that stops Dean from running full-tilt at the angel and crushing him in the tightest hug he can manage in a sad attempt to right his unresponsiveness the last time he had seen Cas. (It doesn’t help, though, because this is just Dean’s sad brain’s projection of the thing he wants most in this world.)</p><p>But, in the moment, it feels real enough to Dean to ease the persistent ache in his chest, if only a little.</p><p>***</p><p>Dean flickers into view right in front of Cas, and tackles Cas in a hug before the angel has a chance to react. Cas almost chokes on his own breath. He hasn’t been touched——hasn’t been aware enough to even know if he has been——in so long.</p><p>How long has it been?</p><p>How much of eternity has Cas slept through?</p><p>Dean’s (the empty’s approximation of Dean, anyway) arms tighten around Cas, and Cas can’t stop himself from hugging back.</p><p>“I miss you,” Dean whispers, pressing himself as close to Cas as he can. One of Dean’s hands is in Cas’ hair, gently holding his head.</p><p>Cas wants to say that he misses Dean, too, but he won’t give the Shadow the satisfaction.</p><p>“I miss you so much.”</p><p>
  <em>Why did you wake me up only to hurt me?</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>“I miss you so much.”</p><p>Cas doesn’t react. He’s hugging Dean, but other than that, it’s like he doesn’t even notice Dean is there. Even in Dean’s dreams, he can’t get through to Cas.</p><p>“And I——I love you, too, damnit.”</p><p>He blinks to get the tears out of his eyes, and when he opens them again, he’s back in his room in the bunker. Tears coat his cheeks, and he feels horribly, horribly alone.</p><p>***</p><p>“I love you, too, damnit.”</p><p>The arms around Cas disappear, and he falls to his knees. No.<em> No.</em></p><p>“Dean,” He sobs. “Dean. <em>No.”</em> Hot tears drip down his cheeks and he scrubs them away.</p><p>What he had was only an illusion, but any Dean is better than no Dean, and now Cas is alone again. Alone and cold.</p><p>He’s so, so cold, and so, so tired.</p><p>***</p><p>Sam wakes up to the rustling of books, and a very loud crash from down the hallway. He’s tired, the kind of tired that makes your head pound and leaves you sick to your stomach, but he gets up anyway. Something tells him that the thing that made that noise is Dean (and if it isn’t he should get up and check that out anyway) and Sam doesn’t feel like Dean should be left alone for too long.</p><p>So Sam forces himself to his feet, and carefully steps out of his room.</p><p>Dean is sprawled on the floor, loose leaf paper strewn around him, and books scattered similarly. He’s still wearing the same jeans he had been last night, and it looks like he had fallen asleep in his clothes, because they’re rumpled as anything, and if Sam knows Dean’s habits (and he does) Dean tends to live in discomfort when he’s tense, and Dean is anything but relaxed right now. It’s not like Sam is relaxed either, but the difference is that Sam at least tries to take care of himself when the odds are against them.</p><p>Sam doesn’t end up on the floor at five in the morning, drunk off his ass, with only incomprehensible scribbles to show for it.<em> Sam</em> takes care of himself.</p><p><em>Dean</em> tries to kill himself as slowly as he can.</p><p>“I’m not drunk,” Dean calls from the floor.</p><p>He doesn’t <em>sound</em> drunk, but Sam knows better. Dean is good at acting sober when he has to. Sam walks over to Dean, prepared to lay into his brother for getting smashed when they’ve got <em>god</em> to worry about, but Dean’s eyes are clear, and his cheeks aren’t alcohol-flushed.</p><p>“I told you,” Dean huffs, and, god——he looks a wreck. He’s been crying, and there are rings under his eyes that would put raccoons to shame. On top of that, he looks like he hasn’t eaten in a week, which actually makes sense. They haven’t had anything but shitty gas station hot dogs since they came back, and Sam is pretty sure Dean had thrown those up later anyway. “I’m not drunk.”</p><p>“I didn’t say you were.”</p><p>“You thought it.” Dean sighs and props himself against the wall. “I can still see it on your face.” He stalks one of the books he dropped on top of another book.</p><p><em>Sam thinks you’re dead weight,</em> Dean thinks absently. <em>Nothing but a useless grunt who gets drunk when there’s nothing for him to hurt.</em> Sam is right. Of course he is. He’s always been the smart one for a reason. Dean never has been, and he never will be.</p><p>Just like Dean has always been the muscle, and he’s not even that any more.</p><p>All Dean is, is... is——is——</p><p>Dean doesn’t know what he is. He still doesn’t know what was manufactured by Chuck, and what he did on how own.</p><p>He keeps stacking papers. He’s spent hours gathering everything he can find on how to kill a god. It’s all stuff him, Sam, and Cas have gone through before, but there needs to be <em>something</em> they haven’t seen before, <em>something</em> they haven’t thought about trying.</p><p>Dean's eyes burn with exhaustion, and he grabs for the stacks of notes he had liberated from one of the back rooms. It’s papers upon papers in his own spiky print-cursive amalgamation, Cas’ careful (almost font-like) English, mixed with occasional Enochian, and Sam’s almost illegible lawyer’s scrawl. It’s everything they’ve found, everything they’ve thought of trying, boiled down to the basics.</p><p>It’s all probably an entire pile of shit, but Dean doesn’t have anything else to go off of.</p><p>“You need some help with those?” Sam asks.</p><p>“Yeah.” Dean mumbles.</p><p>When doesn’t he?</p><p>***</p><p>It’s almost like they never died in the first place. They’re still cooped up inside, what with not being able to leave their carefully warded home without Chuck crushing bones to death. It’s terrifying, of course, but it’s a steady terror, and Dean acclimates to it easily. Of course, food is going to run out eventually, but Dean has gone days without eating before, and he can do it now.</p><p>If he’s being honest, Dean doesn’t think that he could eat right now if he tried. He’s too tied up in knots to think correctly most of the time, much less <em>eat.</em> At least Sam seems to be eating regularly, even if it is all cereal and protein bars.</p><p>In a situation like this, it’s hard for Dean not to feel like he’s twelve years old again: unable to leave the house, and rapidly running out of things to keep Sam alive and healthy. It’s tiring, and every day Dean feels more and more like this is all futile. They’ve tried this before, and they’ve died because of it.</p><p>But they can’t just give up. Dean doesn’t know <em>how</em> to give up. It’s just not written into his code.</p><p>So he keeps looking for a way to kill god, if only for something to do. He keeps working, searching for a method of death where there isn’t one, and a weapon that probably doesn’t exist.</p><p>He carries on.</p><p>It’s one of the only things that he’s good at.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and will be used to create more fun new words :3</p><p>See y'all soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. I Feel Like We're Playing Tug of War and I'm the Rope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Things happen, and no one is entirely okay.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Stumbles in high off of sleep deprivation*<br/>I'm late and I hate it but here it is and here we are so I hope this is better than I think it is.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack Kline is scared. It’s dark in his mind: shadowy, stuffy, and almost suffocating. He’s sore to the bones, and his muscles are cramped from sitting in one spot for so long, but he can’t bring himself to stand. Yelling——fighting with everything he’s got against Chuck’s oppressive control——is exhausting, and he still hasn’t recovered since his last attempt at overthrowing his grandfather.</p><p>But even with all of the effort that Jack has been making, his shouts don’t seem to faze Chuck in the slightest, which is worrying. It’s more than worrying, really, but Jack is trying to stay calm. Keeping his cool in a situation like this is difficult, but he doesn’t have enough energy to be too angry.</p><p>All that Jack wants to do——all that he <em>can</em> do——is yell at Chuck——scream his throat raw——and hope that all the noise and anger and thrashing dampens the hold Chuck has over his body, but Chuck hasn’t so much as acknowledged Jack since he had last put him in his place, and Jack needs to save his energy. That in mind, he pushes back against Chuck’s attempts to smother him just enough to stay conscious, and waits.</p><p>He waits, and he gathers his strength.</p><p>Jack sighs and looks into the compressed dark in front of him. All that he wants is to be back at the bunker with his family——with everyone safe and alive. He wants things to be how he had thought they would be after Chuck was defeated. The only reason that they aren’t like that now is because Jack hadn’t been strong enough, and now Sam and Dean are paying the price.</p><p>And Jack know this because even if he isn’t in control of what he is doing, Jack sees everything that Chuck does, which means that he knows everything that Chuck <em>did.</em></p><p>Chuck had pushed Eileen away from Sam. Killed Dean on a piece of rusty metal. He had made Jack <em>watch</em> as Sam’s life drained away on djinn poison.</p><p>He had lied to Dean about Cas being in Heaven.</p><p>Jack knows that he should give his family’s resilience more credit, but he’s worried that Chuck is going to break them for good. He had very nearly shattered Dean completely before he had decided that Dean wasn’t necessary to the story and killed him. As of now, Jack doesn’t know how Sam and Dean are doing, but if their mental states from the last time he had seen them were any indicator, it can’t be good.</p><p>Despite everything that’s happened between them, Jack hopes that Dean is fairing well.</p><p>It’s no secret that Jack and Dean have hurt each other. Over the time, they all have in some way or another, and Jack doesn’t hold it against them. They’re family, and no family is perfect (their family less so than the median, but not every family saves the world on a regular basis). And when it comes down to it, Dean is Jack’s dad (one of many, but the Winchesters aren’t exactly the normal family model) and Jack loves all of his dads.</p><p>(Well, save for the biological ones.)</p><p>Jack hopes that Dean sees him as a son, but sometimes it’s hard to tell, and Dean has said that he doesn’t think of Jack as family before. That had been a rough time for all of them, though, and the regret that had broadcasted from Dean after he had said that had been almost painfully strong, so Jack had no idea what Dean was thinking in that moment. Regardless: Dean <em>is</em> Jack’s dad, and there’s nothing that Dean can do to change that, so of course Jack cares about him, and of course it had hurt when Jack had watched Dean get impaled.</p><p>It had hurt when Jack spent three days watching Sam die.</p><p>And it hurts more than anything to know that Cas is in the empty during all of this.</p><p>It’s all just another reason for Jack to want to scream and cry, and just <em>be angry.</em> He can’t, though. He can’t waste his energy on grief.</p><p>He needs to rest up and conserve his strength, because he’s going to try to take down Chuck again. Jack thinks——he <em>knows</em>——if he can take back control of his body that he can most likely eject Chuck. Or, at the least, he can weaken him enough so that someone can kill them both.</p><p>Jack doesn’t want to die for this, but he’s prepared to. More than prepared.</p><p>He truly is his fathers’ son.</p><p>***</p><p>“What are we going to do, Dean, stay here until we run out of food and die?”</p><p>“No! We’re——I have a plan.”</p><p>“And what is it?”</p><p>“It’s——“ Dean growls and smacks his hand against the table. “I’m working on it.”</p><p>He is. He has been.</p><p>He’s... he’s trying, damnit. He’s trying so hard to find anything they haven’t already tried to death (in some cases, literally), but killing god isn’t a subject with much reliable information to call upon. That’s probably intentional on Chuck’s part, now that Dean thinks about it. He smacks his head against the table he’s sitting at, and doesn’t bother raising it again. Anything that they have against Chuck is probably fake, anyway.</p><p>Why had that thought it was possible to beat god?</p><p>Dean hadn’t. Not really. But he had still <em>tried</em> for his family. It was all for nothing, though, because at the end of the day, Dean is just a person (and not a very good one at that) and Chuck is the capital ‘G’ God.</p><p>Dean still doesn’t think that it’s possible to kill god (at least not without horrible casualties), but he’s angry enough to create a way all on his own. And——when he looks down at the methods him, Sam, and Cas had compiled all those months ago——he might just need to do that.</p><p>“I’m working on it,” he repeats.</p><p>“You’re <em>killing yourself,”</em> Sam argues. “Again.” He sighs, long and tired. “Just... rest. Eat something. We’ll finish this later.”</p><p>Sam leaves in a frustrated huff. Grudgingly, Dean takes a nap (dozes off with a book for a pillow), and picks at some cereal that he just ends up tossing out in the end.</p><p>At this rate, he’ll be dead again by the end of the week.</p><p>***</p><p>Scribbled-over notes bleed half-dry ink onto Dean’s skin, but he doesn’t notice. He’s moved past looking through books, and decided to run with what he has. If he looks at everything hard and long enough, an answer will emerge. Not the correct one, per se, but an answer of some sort——a clue, at least——something that Dean can try. Besides, if it doesn’t pan out, that’s just another thing Dean can cross off of his list.</p><p>(Unless he dies again, that is. Who knows what’ll happen to him then.)</p><p>The more that Dean looks at the list, the more hopeless things begin to appear. What they have on Chuck isn’t a list of <em>ways</em> so much as a list of shots in the dark.</p><p>It’s a dying, desperate world’s last straws, and they’re all the shitty paper type.</p><p>Shitty paper straws aside, Dean continues to scribble. He’s halfway through some of Cas’ notes, and this portion is written in Enochian. Cas tends——<em>had tended</em>——to switch to writing in Enochian when he was tired enough, so this sheet is a sign of a late, exhausting night. A painful reminder of how hard Cas had worked, all for nothing.</p><p>That was just the story of their lives. All for nothing, or, at the most, all for another few days.</p><p>***</p><p>Sam is really starting to worry about Dean. Things aren’t normal by any stretch of the imagination——they never have been——but this is bad, even for them. Sam hasn’t seen Dean sleep since he had passed out from sheer pain, right after Purgatory, and hasn’t seen him eat more than a couple of bites of food at a time. Even then, it’s only because Sam has prompted him.</p><p>Dean is going to make himself sick——or worse——trying to find a way to get rid of Chuck. That’s it, plain and simple, and there’s not much Sam can do to stop him.</p><p>He finds Dean asleep on their fourth day back. They haven’t contacted anyone for fear of them being hurt, or otherwise removed from existence, but Sam is debating texting Eileen when he walks through the main room and sees Dean, slumped over his notes, no doubt passed out from sheer exhaustion. Sighing, Sam lays a blanket over his brother, and elects to text Eileen. She deserves to know everything that has happened, and Sam needs to know that she’s okay.</p><p>Sam hopes it’s not too late to patch things up, especially after he pushed her away. What he did, he’s not exactly sure (thanks, Chuck), but he prays it’s fixable. He doesn’t want to lose something he was so close to having. He’s endured enough loss over the years.</p><p>It’s about time he had something that he can hold on to.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and will be placed into a ten gallon tank so they have plenty of room to swim around.</p><p>See y'all soon? I hope? Fuck if I know.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. I'm too tired to eat, too tired to breathe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean finds a way to beat Chuck. Of course, it will only work if he can stay awake.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HI HELLO YES I'M STILL ALIVE.<br/>This was supposed to come out about three days ago, but then my brain and life was just like no &lt;3 so it didn't and I swear I'm gonna update on time next chapter.<br/>Sorry, y'all.</p><p>Anyway, here's the shit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Ophiotaurus (Οφιόταυρος).</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Monster. Ancient Greek. Consisting of the top half of a a bull, and the bottom half of a serpent.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Threat level two. Hostile, but not dangerous unless it feels that its nest is threatened.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>It is said that the person who burns the entrails of this monster will be granted power enough to defeat a god. This has not yet been tested by the Men of Letters. As of the time that this entry is being written, samples of the flesh of an ophiotaurus are being held in storage room #39 on the third basement level.</strong>
</p><p>Underneath, a set of known locations and coordinates of the beasts have been scrawled in tiny print. The closest one is only a few hours away, but Dean barely notices because <em>the solution to all of their problems is somewhere in the bunker.</em> He drops the book like it’s burned him the moment that the realization hits. The drop is partially from shock, and partially because Dean is shaking pretty damn hard, but it causes the desired effect. It’s been under his nose the whole time.</p><p>
  <em>Son of a bitch.</em>
</p><p>He shuts the book, scrambles into a standing position, and bolts for the storage room.</p><p>***</p><p>It’s not there.</p><p>It’s not there.</p><p>How is it not there?</p><p>Dean has torn storage room #39 (third basement level) to shreds. There are boxes everywhere——they had already been everywhere, but now they’re in a state of complete disarray——and artifacts scattered to every corner. In the middle of it all, Dean is picking through the nth unsearched box, looking desperately for the one solid lead he’s come across.</p><p>Still, for all his looking, Dean is still coming up blank. But maybe that’s more because his vision keeps going fuzzy than for a lack of the entrails being there. He blinks, and everything goes a weird, glitchy grey-red.</p><p>That usually only happens when Dean hasn’t been sleeping, and he hasn’t gotten his usual four hours across the last four <em>days,</em> much less four hours a night (which really isn’t enough for him anymore).</p><p>Dean blinks again, but red still washes his vision. He stands in an attempt to get a better look at the room, which is when his body decides that this is the perfect time for his legs to decide to stop holding him up, and for his brain to short out.</p><p>He trips backwards over his feet, and is out like a light the second he hits the floor.</p><p>***</p><p>“Dean! Hey, Dean! Wake up!”</p><p>Dean whines——it’s really more of a whimper——at the sudden noise. His head aches, and everything is foggy around him. There’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking roughly, and it <em>hurts,</em> damnit. Dean pries his gritty eyes open with an unhappy groan, and attempts to focus on Sam.</p><p>“There you are,” Sam says, squeezing Dean’s shoulder and hauling Dean into a sitting position. Dean curls in on himself as his empty stomach spasms, and he falls back against the floor. The Men of Letters archive book from earlier is right next to his face, still open to the page it had been before Dean’s impromptu nap. He shoves it at Sam, who looks down at it skeptically.</p><p>“What’s this?”</p><p>Dean doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t even know if he will be able to force the words out, so he just points at the ophiotarusus’ entry. Or tries to, anyway. His hand refuses to cooperate, and he just ends up smacking the book.</p><p>Even with Dean’s lack of articulation (and coordination, for that matter), the message seems to have gotten across nicely, because Sam raises his eyebrows in interest. “Huh.”</p><p>Dean tries to smile in a self-satisfied manner, but his eyes roll back in his head without his consent, and he passes out again instead.</p><p>***</p><p>Dean wakes up to the smell of burned soup.</p><p>
  <em>Damnit, Sam.</em>
</p><p>Try as he might, Sam will never be able to cook. Even with all of the pointers that Dean has given him over the years, he can barely boil water.</p><p>Dean rolls off of the couch that he somehow ended up on, and limp-walks to the kitchen. The smell of food becomes stronger as he gets closer to it, and it ties his already pinched stomach into knots.</p><p>“Sam?” Dean asks, wincing as the floor swims in front of him. He’s nauseously lightheaded. With a jolt, Dean realizes that he can’t remember how long it has been since he’s eaten something. He quickly redoubles his efforts to reach the source of the smell of food, and (hopefully) Sam, making a conscious effort not to trip over his feet.</p><p>By the time he reaches the kitchen, he’s seeing stars, and can barely walk in a straight line. He really needs to eat something, or drink some water, at least.</p><p>Sam pokes his head out of the kitchen, sets his expression in a frown, and points towards the table in the kitchen. “Sit. I’m making you eat something.”</p><p>Dean sits, chugs the water Sam shoves his way, and makes a valiant attempt to choke down whatever the fuck that Sam has scalded beyond edibility.</p><p>“You scared me,” Sam says, decidedly not eating whatever he’s burnt. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to yourself?”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“You’re <em>not</em> fine.”</p><p>Dean lays his forehead against the table. He’s exhausted, and doesn’t want to fight anymore. Just staying awake is hard, and forcing out words increases the difficulty tenfold. “I found the thing,” he slurs. “The o-o-oph-ophi——“</p><p>“Ophiotaurus.”</p><p>Dean nods against the table. “Hmm.” He pushes away the soup. It has started to congeal into something that truly scares Dean, and he doesn’t want it anywhere near him. “It’s supposed to be——“</p><p>“It’s not here. I looked.”</p><p>
  <em>Damnit.</em>
</p><p>Dean sets his jaw, and summons the most determined look that he can. “Then we’re going to find one.”</p><p>***</p><p>Dean is once again covered in sigils, and this time, he’s armed to the teeth. If the sigils still work, he (and Sam, who is also slathered with various squiggles and Enochian characters) should be hidden from Chuck.</p><p>The damn sigils better work.</p><p>All the same, Dean steps out of the bunker first, just so that (in the case of catastrophic disaster) if he <em>does</em> die, Sam will know that their sigils are out of date, and hopefully remain alive. (Emphasis on<em> hopefully.)</em></p><p>Luckily, Dean doesn’t burst into flames, or disintegrate when he passes through the door, so Sam follows him. They take the long way around to reach the garage, checking to make sure the sigils and protective wards on the outside of the building are intact as they walk. They are, thank...</p><p>Well, Dean is certainly not thanking Chuck.</p><p>He pats himself on the back for his handiwork, and grimaces as the KIA he had liberated from South Dakota comes into view. Sam shoots him a look that says<em> ‘it’s just a KIA, Dean. Don’t be so harsh on it.’</em></p><p>Making a point to ignore that, Dean heads for one of the vintage Men of Letters cars, and starts that instead. He’d prefer to drive the Impala, but it’s gone. He doesn’t know where, and hasn’t bothered to track it, because he can’t see the point. The point it, Dean is not going to drive a <em>KIA</em> to fight god (a second time), that’s for damn sure.</p><p>Dean double-checks the destination of the supposed ophiotaurus, and the stock of weapons tucked into the trunk, and carefully pulls out of the garage.</p><p>And with that, they’re on the road again.</p><p>On the road, and on a roundabout path to killing god.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeahhh there we go!<br/>If you liked it please drop a comment or a kudo. They make me go absolutely feral, and wouldn't you want to see that?</p><p>See y'all later? Maybe? </p><p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. You're not built like a greek god, baby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam and Dean arrive at their destination, and decide to kill bull-fish (as you do),</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heyyyy I meant to post this yesterday, but oops I didn't because my brain hates me :) :) :)<br/>On another note: I looked, and there's not really shit on the ophiotaurus because it's in, like, one ancient book, and an episode of my little pony(???) so I just kind of made up a bunch of shit.<br/>I hope you like it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam and Dean follow the road until the trees begin close in on them, and asphalt turns to dirt. In a way, it’s almost eerily similar to the almost endless road that he and Sam had been on less than two weeks ago. From where Deanis now, it feels like nothing but more road, more trees, and an unhanging, monotonous, landscape.</p><p>Dean has never hated the forest so much in his damn life.</p><p>He adjusts his grip on the steering wheel and presses down harder on the gas pedal. His shoulders are so tense they hurt. It’s a deep, aching throb that cramps his muscles, but he ignores it as well as he can. At least the gradually increasing muscle pain distracts him from his worst thoughts.</p><p>For the most part.</p><p>No matter how much he’s hurting physically, Dean’s mental demons refuse to leave him alone. He can’t stop replaying Cas’ last moments in his mind. Even months later, it won’t leave Dean alone.</p><p>He hadn’t said anything back——he hadn’t even moved. All he had done was stare, teary-eyed and <em>weak.</em></p><p>He had just let the empty take Cas. No resistance, no nothing. Just...</p><p>Gone.</p><p>Forever.</p><p>The painted sigils on Dean’s body have started to itch. He wants to pick them off, but that would mean almost certain death.</p><p>Scratch that, it would mean definite death. Dean doesn’t necessarily want to live at the moment, but there’s not a doubt in his mind that death would only make things worse for him. If what he had been subjected to earlier was anything to go by, things can and are going to get worse if Dean dies again.</p><p>Regardless, things will get worse. They always do.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean spies the river he and Sam are looking for, and pulls off of the road to park. No words are exchanged as the car stops and Sam and Dean get out. They stay silent all the way to the river, unready to break the silence, or to speak of things they’re not ready to do much as think about.</p><p>Things like Cas, and what happened (or, more rather, what <em>didn’t</em> happen) between Sam and Eileen.</p><p>And things like Jack.</p><p>Dean knows full well that Chuck is going to appear in Jack’s body.</p><p>Dean knows he’s more likely than not going to have to kill his son. Sam won’t do it, that’s for sure. Cas wouldn’t, if he was here.</p><p>Dean doesn’t even want to begin to think about how he’s going to explain this to Cas. He <em>will</em> need to explain it to Cas, too, because they’re getting Cas back. It doesn’t matter if Cas hates him for the rest of eternity after he learns about what Dean will no doubt have to do to Jack. Cas will be/here to be angry at Dean, though, and that’s what matters.</p><p>It’s not time for that now. Not yet.</p><p>First: kill god.</p><p>Dean steps carefully to the edge of the fast-running stream, and starts walking along it. Eventually, they should come across a lull in the rapid current, and that’s the place that the ophiotaurus should be. Emphasis on<em> should.</em> There wasn’t much on ophiotaurus that Dean had found beyond the meager entry and sets of outdated coordinates in Men of Letters’ book.</p><p>They like hiding more than anything, it seems. Dean almost feels bad about going after them, when all they appear to want is to be left alone, but that sympathy disappears the second its den comes in sight.</p><p>It’s not unlike a beaver’s dam at first glance. Bigger, yes, but the structure is almost a carbon copy. That, and the closer Dean looks, the more bones he can see. It’s mostly animals, but the closer Dean looks, the more human parts he sees. A sickly-sweet rotting smell saturates the air, and Dean barely stops himself from choking on it. Sam isn’t so lucky, and launches himself into a coughing fit.</p><p>It’s excusable——after all, they are out of practice——and dealing with dead (rotting, rancid) bodies is never the easiest thing, if only because of the smell. It really is a horrible smell.</p><p>Dean covers his nose as he walks closer and tires to breathe through his mouth. Sam grimaces.</p><p>At the far end of the lull in the river, near the tallest section of the dam, something splashes. Dean’s gaze slides over to the source of the sound, but he sees nothing.</p><p>And then, seemingly out of nowhere, a deep score appears in the earth on the bank opposite to Dean’s. Behind Dean, Sam goes completely still, and scans the bank. Another divot scars the muddy bank, but no beast shows itself.</p><p>“Something’s there,” Sam whispers. He has one hand on his gun, and his entire body is tensed——ready for battle. The only difference between him and Dean is that Dean has his hand on an angel blade rather than a gun.</p><p>A wet <em>shluck</em> comes from across the river, and Dean’s breath freezes in his lungs when he sees what looks like nothing disappear into the current.</p><p>Dean wishes that he had packed the holy oil glasses, but, in his defense, he hadn’t known the damn bull-snake would be <em>invisible.</em> He steps back from the bank, motioning for Sam to do the same, and squares his stance.</p><p>A low moo emanates from the silty river’s edge, and it would be almost comical if Dean didn’t have so much adrenaline pumping though him. This is small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, but there’s something about not being able to /see/ the thing you’re hunting. He flips the blade in his hand, trying to track the sound, and the next thing he knows, his feet have been bowled out from under him, and he’s on the ground with a splitting pain in his gut.</p><p>Gunshots ring out: one, two, three, and Dean can see where they strike the ophiotaurus, but they don’t appear to do much damage. In retaliation, Dean slams the angel blade up in a wild guess at where the thing’s torso is. He hits home, and blood gushes everywhere.</p><p>The ophiotaurus howls, and falls limp over Dean. Its horns barely miss Dean’s head as they spear into the ground, and there’s a horrified shout from Sam before he realizes that his brother is okay.</p><p>And just like that, the first step is completed.</p><p>Dean shimmies out from under the ophiotaurus, stumbles to his feet, and steps back until he’s next to Sam. The angel blade is still in Dean’s tightly clenched fist, covered in dark blood, but Dean barely notices it. He’s busy staring at the quarter-visible monster, impaled into the ground in front of them.</p><p>“You want to start a fire?” He asks Sam in a shaky voice.</p><p>Sam nods, and starts searching for kindling. Dean looks at the monster and contemplates what exactly his next course of action is going to be.</p><p>Well, one way or another, he’s gonna end with this thing’s intestines draped around his neck like an infinity scarf.</p><p>He dislodges the ophiotaurus’ horns from the ground without much trouble, and turns it into what he thinks is a stomach-up position, judging by the huge bloody gash that he had left in it with the angel blade. Dean widens the gash, and lo and behold, there’s the goods. He smiles——morbid as it is——and tucks his angel blade away.</p><p>It’s gross. He’s not going to pretend it’s not, because there is <em>nothing</em> pretty about disemboweling a mythological creature in the middle of a forest, while you’re surrounded by various corpses of animals and people. It’s what has to be done, though, so Dean is going to do it.</p><p>He pulls out a... He’s almost certain it’s a section of intestine, and it immediately splits into pieces. It’s disgusting, but he has it, and that’s all he needs, so he holds it against his chest, and walks over to Sam, who is trying to coax a small fire into a blaze large enough to burn the entrails. He dumps some more lighter fluid onto the pile of burning sticks, and the flames leap higher.</p><p>“Look alive, Sammy,” Dean calls, trying to keep his tone upbeat as he tosses part of the organ Sam’s way. Sam makes a both disgusted and exasperated face, but catches it anyway.</p><p>Dean holds his part of the organ over the flames, and drops it. He winces slightly at the smell and bubbly squelch from the burnt flesh. It crumbles to ash surprisingly quickly, almost melting into feathery red flecks of nothingness. Sam tosses his portion in a moment later.</p><p>Nothing feels different by the time it’s finished. Dean doesn’t feel like he could punch a hole through a mountain, or cause an earthquake with a snap of his fingers, but he doesn’t know exactly what he expected. From the look on Sam’s face, he doesn’t feel much different either, but neither of them comment on that. At this point, all they can do is hope for the best.</p><p>“Ready?” Sam asks, looking down at the protective sigils that cover his arms.</p><p>Dean shrugs. They can’t exactly back out now.</p><p>“Let’s do it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright! Let's gooooooo!<br/>Please drop a comment, or leave a kudo if you liked it, and I'll see y'all soon :3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Have you... have you ever wanted to fight god? Because the Winchesters sure have, and they're fuckin' gonna.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>...<br/>*shuffles in*<br/>I'm so tired, and probably late. May the fourth be with you, and all that jazz.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes all of seventeen seconds for Chuck to appear after Sam scratches off one of the sigils.</p><p>It’s quiet, and there’s none of the fanfare that Chuck seems to revel in so much, but it’s petrifying all the same. The air crackles with energy: awe-inspiring, and wholly terrible.</p><p>Despite the stark white suit that Chuck has dressed Jack up in, he radiates an impure power so striking that Dean has no idea how he hadn’t noticed it earlier. He’s thrown back to the last time someone who wasn’t Jack had inhabited Jack’s body; right after Chuck had revealed his true nature.</p><p>Belphegor.</p><p>That time had nearly torn Dean apart. It had nearly torn all of them apart, for that matter. Dean had thought they finished then. He’s halfway to thinking that now, too. The difference is, at the moment it’s just him and Sam, so they’re already halfway there.</p><p>Two hunters——tired and more beaten-down than a person should be able to be——against a corrupted god who happens to be wearing the face of the closest thing either of them will ever have to a kid. It physically hurts.</p><p>The phrase ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely’ comes to Dean’s mind. If he looks it’s easy to see where Chuck’s powers have formed fissures in Jack’s being. Cracks in his skin, dark veins... it’s too much for the kid, and his body isn’t going to be able to take it for much longer without breaking down.</p><p>Dean hopes——he prays——that Jack isn’t hurting.</p><p>Chuck smiles wide, and Dean seriously thinks that he is adding more teeth than Jack has, because it is fucking <em>terrifying.</em></p><p>“Dean. Sam.” He nods at them in a manner that says ‘you’re beneath me.’</p><p>He’s not wrong.</p><p>“Chuck,” Dean growls.</p><p>“You’re really going to try to kill me again?” Chuck asks, propping a hand on his hip.</p><p>Dean reaches inside of his jacket and grips his angel blade with a blood-slick hand. He should fling it into Chuck’s throat, and call it a day. Theoretically, that could do it, but the idea of spearing Jack through the neck without even giving him a chance to escape from Chuck’s control seems inhumane. Instead, the angel blade hits home in Chuck’s shoulder. If they’re lucky, that will throw Chuck off long enough for Jack to at least make an attempt at taking back his body.</p><p>Chuck stumbles back, clutches his shoulder, and hisses in pain. The angel blade disappears with a snap of Chuck’s fingers, and the bloody hole heals itself immediately. Even the suit mends perfectly.</p><p>
  <em>Damnit.</em>
</p><p>“Okay,” Chuck says, stepping forward, one foot right in front of the other, until he’s right in front of Dean. “That was adorable.” He laughs, short and just shy of pitying.</p><p>Of all the off the wall, batshit things that he has done, Dean Winchester definitely never expected to kick god in the balls. All the same, that is what happens next, because what the fuck is Dean’s life.</p><p>(Inwardly, Dean apologizes to Jack. The poor kid didn’t deserve that.)</p><p>Surprisingly enough, that seems to hurt Chuck more than the angel blade had, and it makes him angry enough to slam Dean into a tree. Dean yelps in pain as a sharp branch tears his clothes and scrapes against his ribs. His head knocks hard against the tree, and everything blacks out for a second.</p><p>When his vision returns, so does most of his awareness. Hot blood is running down his side, and there’s so much, more than Dean expected from a scratch, but he supposes that Chuck is still doctoring reality enough to hurt them more than they should be.</p><p>Sam has his back to Dean, and is brandishing an angel blade against Chuck, who has a downright feral expression on his face. At first, Dean thinks that it’s his imagination, but after he blinks away the dizziness he confirms that——yes——the hole in the suit has unstitched, and begun to bleed again. Chuck glances at his injury in confusion and thinly veiled horror before refocusing on Sam.</p><p>After that, everything kind of happens in slow motion.</p><p>Chuck pulls a angel blade of his own out of thin air (probably literally), and takes a swaggery step forward. He looks every inch like a man who knows when he’s won. Sam, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to lose his mind. He’s somewhere between crying and furious, and the hand that holds his angel blade is shaking hard.</p><p>He’s angry, and he has every right to be. Two choices are in front of him: kill his son, or back off and probably plunge to world into some sort of disaster or another. It’s fucked up, and entirely unfair, but since when has anything ever been fair for Sam Winchester?</p><p>He can’t back out now, especially with Chuck looking like he’s out for blood. Blue-white light oozes from the hole in his shoulder, and he hefts his own weapon, eyes ablaze with anger. Chuck has almost always portrayed himself as either all-powerful, or not an issue worth considering, but this time is different.</p><p>This time, Chuck both knows that he’s in danger, and is more than properly aware of the pull that wearing Jack’s body gives him over the Winchesters. It’s a unique situation——in more ways than one——to put it lightly. They’re not on even footing by my means, but it’s more even than they’ve ever been on.</p><p>Cautiously, Sam steps forward, keeping the hand his angel blade is in forward, in case of... well, anything. Chuck stays where he is, his stance tense. He’s trying to retain the illusion of power, of invincibility, but the effect is lost on account of the gaping hole in his shoulder.</p><p>“You <em>really</em> think you can beat me? Even after what I did to you and your brother the last time you tried?” Chuck’s eyes slide over to Dean, who is struggling to stand. It’s easy to see that he’s still gasping for breath, and he’s almost certainly broken something, but Sam can’t worry about his brother now.</p><p>Right now, his objective is to kill Chuck, and he needs to go it before Chuck kills him (again).</p><p>In Sam’s humble opinion, it’s kind of a lot for a person to do, especially considering the situation as a whole.</p><p>And, as always, Chuck gives zero shits about what Sam can and cannot do, so he decides to attack almost immediately. Being god, he’s well-versed when it comes to fighting (of course it’s easier when you can automatically download everything into your brain).</p><p>All the same, Sam still manages to dodge Chuck’s first wild swing of a blade fairly well.</p><p>Behind Sam, Dean manages to get to his feet, and nearly collapses as he does. It feels like his entire chest has been shattered——and who knows, it might have been——but he stays on his feet, and surveys the scene with pain-bleary eyes.</p><p>Sam is close to being backed into the river: and is blocking Chuck’s angel blade with one hand on the flat of his own weapon. From the look of it, Chuck is going to overpower Sam, which is a thing that Dean cannot allow to happen. That thought in mind, he pushes himself off of the tree he’s leaning against, and staggers towards Chuck. There’s a knife in his back pocket——it’s only a plain pocketknife, but it will have to do, and it <em>should</em> do, what with the steps Sam and Dean have taken to make sure they’re able to kill god——so Dean pulls it out and flips it open.</p><p>Stabbing /god himself/ in the back with a literal pocketknife was not on the bucket list, but here Dean is.</p><p>Chuck seems mostly occupied by Sam at the moment, so he doesn’t hear Dean approach, or if he does, he doesn’t have the time to pay attention to it. Normally, Dean would have no qualms about stabbing Chuck until he can’t get up, but this is Chuck in <em>Jack’s</em> body, which makes everything about ten times harder.</p><p>It has to be done, though, and Dean is a master of doing things that shouldn’t need to be done. He doesn’t think Sam will hold anything substantial against him for this, but Sam aside, Dean is never going to stop beating himself up over this (among other things).</p><p><em>Just do it. Get it over with. You can drink yourself into oblivion after. </em>Dean flips the knife around in his hand so that he has better leverage, takes a final step forward, and stabs the blade upwards, right into the base of Chuck’s skull.</p><p>There’s a disgusting crunch of <em>something,</em> and Chuck falls forward, onto his knees, then his face.</p><p>Sticky blood bubbles up around the handle of the knife and pools on the ground. There’s <em>so much</em> of it, and the coppery smell that starts to invade the air is enough to almost make Dean sick.</p><p>Jack’s body twitches.</p><p>Sam is still upright, but he looks weak, like he could fall over at any minute. He locks eyes with Dean for a moment, and Dean can see that Sam’s eyes are filled with tears. Dean’s eyes are, too, and a kind of numb sadness starts to spread through his body.</p><p>Chuck might be dead, but so is Jack. Dean has tried to kill Jack before (then again, how much of that was really him, and how much of that had been plotted by Chuck?) but this is the first time that he’s followed through with it.</p><p>He’s killed his son.</p><p>Jesus Christ, Dean is gonna throw up.</p><p>“Should we burn him?” Sam asks after a long moment of silence. His voice is raspy from held back tears, and it doesn’t look like he can stand to touch Jack, let alone prepare to <em>burn</em> him.</p><p>Dean can’t bring himself to affirm Sam’s question. Still, he bends down, and pulls the knife from Jack’s neck. It looks wrong, just sitting there. Dean wipes the blood off of it, and sticks it in his pocket, almost robotically.</p><p>Jack remains very, very still, and very, very pale.</p><p>Dean’s cheeks are wet with tears that sting the cuts on his face. He doesn’t think he can move. As it is, he’s still having trouble breathing, and everything is...</p><p>Dean doesn’t know. Maybe he’s in shock. Maybe he’s still bleeding out in that barn, speared through with rebar and this is just his mind trying to convince him he’s still alive. Maybe he’s——</p><p>From the ground, Jack coughs.</p><p>Sam is immediately next to the kid, turning him over and trying to sit him up. His eyes are wild, half feral, half confused. Jack coughs again, and his eyes crack open. They’re horribly bloodshot, and his breathing is quick and more shallow than normal.</p><p>He still manages to smile and wave weakly.</p><p>Dean’s legs nearly give out with relief, and he drops to the ground, his legs folded awkwardly beneath him. He shivers again, and looks over at Sam and Jack: seeing them, but not really processing.</p><p>Sam looks like he doesn’t quite know exactly what to think. He’s still gaping at Jack, and trying to catch his mind up to what’s happening in real time.</p><p>Jack doesn’t look <em>confused</em> per se, but he’s definitely disoriented, and still bleeding from the gash at the base of his skull, in addition to various other cuts. Gold light starts sparking from the cuts, and the slashed-up skin starts to knit back together. He stares down at his fingers and watches at the small cuts across his hands and palms spark yellow, and disappear.</p><p>“Sam? Dean?” He looks around frantically, and Dean’s stomach turns at the sight of the open gash in the back of Jack’s head. Golden light shines from it, and Dean can see the flesh trying to knit itself back together.</p><p>“Hey, kid,” Dean chokes out. “You feeling okay?”</p><p>Jack tries to squint at Dean, but it looks like he hasn’t quite gotten his body under control yet, because all he manages is a jerky blink. “Not really, no.”</p><p>Jack is alive, though, and that’s better than nothing. It looks like he’s still becoming used to being in control of his body again, because he’s busy staring down at his slightly shaky hands like he’s never seen them before. He flexes his fingers, and smiles at the results, then looks up at Sam. “Can we go home?”</p><p>Sam nods. “That sounds good.” He stands, and helps Jack to his feet. Dean staggers up on his own, pulls the keys out, and tosses them to Sam.</p><p>“You drive.”</p><p>No one argues with that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so I actually have an explanation for why Jack isn't dead that I was too dumb to work into the fic, so I'm gonna put it here. The powers granted to Sam and Dean from the ophiotaurus only gave them the ability to kill <em>god,</em> and Jack--while god was possessing his body--isn't god. So, basically, as soon as Chuck kicked it, the powers that injured Jack's body were pretty much useless because there was no longer a god in his meatsuit. Does that make sense? It does to me.</p><p>Well, that was fun. Next up: rescuing everyone's favorite gay angel from superhell! Or maybe just Dean crying, who knows.</p><p>Thank you for reading so far. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, and will be kept in a photo album, and pressed between the pages like flowers.</p><p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Family regained, and family lost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The gang recovers from the battle against Chuck, and everyone is in a bit of shock.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay sorry peeps this was supposed to come out earlier but I went traveling and mistook the integrity of my internet and how much time I had to do shit.<br/>BUT<br/>HERE WE ARE</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean limps into the bunker after Sam and Jack. He trails about a dozen feet behind them——not for a lack or energy, or an inability to keep up——but simply because he doesn’t think he can face Sam and Jack right now.</p><p>Most of the drive home had been spent catching Jack up on everything he had missed, which didn’t seem like a lot until it was all spelled out. By the time they had gotten to the end——Sam had done more of the talking——it almost seemed like too much. It <em>is</em> too much, and Dean doesn’t know how much more of this he can live through in rapid succession without breaking down and ending up run through with a sharp bit of metal again.</p><p>He rubs at his tired-sore eyes, and closes the door behind himself, before leaning back against it. Sam and Jack keep going, most likely to finish patching Jack’s injuries up, and then find something for the poor kid to eat. He hadn’t been able to heal every cut and bruise inflicted upon him, but he had done enough so that he was no longer in danger of imminent death. The wound he had from the angel blade was the worst by far, but the blow that had finished Chuck off had healed relatively quickly and cleanly.</p><p>Go figure. The kid is stronger than Dean gives him credit for.</p><p>All the same, Dean throws the knife into the first trash can he sees. At this point, there are far too many bad memories attached to it to justify keeping it. He leaves Sam and Jack to their business, and locks himself in his room before stripping off his jacket, flannel, and shirt. The jagged gash on his side protests, and decides to continue bleeding when Dean keeps moving about.</p><p><em>Water, gauze, tape.</em> He sighs and rifles through his first-aid kit. <em>Maybe some thread and a needle.</em></p><p>Blood trickles down his side and soaks into his pants as he gathers what he needs, and gets ready to stitch himself up. The first step——obviously——is usually to chug enough whiskey so that it doesn’t hurt, and then go to town on your meatsuit, but the idea of alcohol makes Dean sick right now, so he forgoes it in favor of biting his tongue against the pain.</p><p>The gash is too wide for Dean’s awkward stitching abilities, so he cleans it as best he can, slaps a dozen butterfly bandages over anything he can’t stitch properly, covers it in gauze and tape, and calls it a day. That’s not how it’s supposed to be done, but Dean can’t bring himself to care much.</p><p>He trudges into the kitchen, blinking back a yawn, and readies himself to try and scrounge up something edible for Sam and Jack. There’s not much other than cereal and some canned goods in the kitchen, but it will have to do.</p><p>Dean is staring down cornflakes, canned pineapple, and pasta. There’s frozen chicken in the freezer, but that’s going to take <em>way </em>too long to thaw out, and Jack definitely needs to eat sooner rather than later. Even though he had been able to heal himself earlier, it’s obvious that he’s just barely above human.</p><p>Plain pasta it is. Maybe they still have some canned tomatoes, but Dean doesn’t have nearly enough time to put together a sauce that won’t taste like shit, so he just throws some bowties (the ones that are three different colors because Jack likes the orange ones the most, and Sam seems to think that they’re more healthy than they actually are) into a pot of boiling water, and rifles through the cabinets for olive oil. They should have that, at least.</p><p>He should make a grocery run the next morning. They can do that now that Chuck is gone.</p><p>Weird.</p><p>The funny thing is, even with the big bad defeated, Dean doesn’t feel much better. There’s some level of relief to be had, obviously, but it’s not enough to make him feel much more than barely okay.</p><p>It will obviously take a while for everyone to calm down from this, but Dean feels like something inside of him is hollowed out and broken. It hurts.</p><p>Some part of Dean knows that the yawning emptiness inside of him is the space in his heart that used to be filled by Cas. Now, there’s nothing there, and it’s going to tear Dean apart. He doesn’t know if he can stop it, but he does know that he’s either going to pull Cas out of the empty, or die trying.</p><p>Death will probably be more tolerable this time, now that no one is going to force Dean to drive for eternity and fuck with his brain until he can’t remember how to breathe. If he’s lucky, the empty will be waiting for him when he bites it. At least then he’ll be with Cas.</p><p>Dean can’t think about that now, though. He has a brother and a kid to feed, and that’s what he needs to focus on. He can deal with the feelings corroding his insides like battery acid later——his family comes first.</p><p>They always have, and always will.</p><p>***</p><p>Sam finishes carefully taping up the small, but extremely deep stab in Jack’s shoulder with precision, and steps back to inspect his work. Jack is kicking his feet softly against the bed, and watching Sam with eyes just a bit darker than they had been the last time Sam had seen them. Jack knows more now; he’s been hurt, trapped by Chuck just like the rest of them, and that’s no small thing to overcome, but there’s still somehow a childish gleam hidden in there.</p><p>Jack is going to be okay.</p><p>(He has to be.)</p><p>“How’s the shoulder feel?”</p><p>Jack shrugs, and doesn’t wince, which is enough of an answer for Sam. “It doesn’t hurt much. I still don’t understand why you wanted to bandage it. I’m almost done healing.”</p><p>Sam doesn’t know exactly why he had insisted on patching Jack up. Maybe it had been just to fulfill the instinct to protect Jack, to make sure he was okay. Sam knows that it was stupid, he probably wasted resources, but having at least tried to do something to help Jack heal up makes him feel a little better. He thinks that he’s finally starting to understand why Dean would get so meticulous about patching up even little cuts after a particularly stressful hunt.</p><p>It’s the <em>idea</em> of being able to help that’s appealing.</p><p>Sam wraps up a cut on his arm by himself. It’s not big, but it’s deep enough to warrant a bandage, and might leave a scar. Jack watches, sort of dull-eyed and tired. He looks almost numb. Shock, maybe. No doubt, the kid has seen some shit in the past few months, and it’s going to take him a while to come back to himself.</p><p>Sighing, Sam ties off the gauze. It’s going to take them all a while.</p><p>***</p><p>Dinner is a quiet affair. No one talks beyond the tired, mumbled greetings exchanged when Sam and Jack make their appearance. Dean mostly picks at his food, and Sam does much the same, but Jack seems to have an appetite, at least.</p><p>They stay close together, and eat in the kitchen. Dean ends up crowding himself into the corner with a bottle of water, knees to his chest. His eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion, and shiny with tears that he won’t let himself cry. Jack drops into a light doze pretty quickly after he eats, and ends up curled on his side, looking much more peaceful than anyone should after going through what he has. Sam takes it upon himself to tidy up the kitchen while Dean focuses on simply continuing to exist.</p><p>He appears to be having a difficult time of it. There are tears now, large and salty, coating his cheeks and dripping onto his arms, which are folded on top of his drawn-up knees. Jack is too tired to notice, and Sam pretends not to in order to help preserve Dean’s dwindling pride.</p><p>They’re a miserable scene, really, and every one of them knows it. It doesn’t take long for Sam to finish rinsing the dishes and setting them to dry. After that, he sits a couple feet away from Dean and watches Jack sleep, feeling drained.</p><p>“I miss him,” Dean mumbles.</p><p>“Cas?”</p><p>“Anyone else you can think of?”</p><p>Sam sighs. “We all do, Dean.” He tilts his head back against the cabinets, and looks at the ceiling. “He was... he was like a brother. Of course we miss him.”</p><p>Dean has the audacity to <em>laugh </em>at that.</p><p>“You think that’s funny?” Sam snaps. He knows that him and Dean are probably going through many of the same emotions, and neither of them are as levelheaded as they should be, but he can’t stop the bit of anger that creeps into his voice.</p><p>Dean shakes his head, but laughs again, sounding on the verge of hysterics. He wipes at his tears, and they feel slimy against his hand. “I never told you what happened when we went after Billie, did I?”</p><p>Sam sits back against the cabinets again, the fight gone from his body. “No.”</p><p>“I missed. I——I swung the scythe, and I missed.” Dean swallows, and the muscles in his jaw tense. As a whole, he’s tense. Nervous about something. “I mean, I hurt her, but not enough. She followed me——me and Cas——back to the bunker. We got cornered. Um, I...” Dean clears his throat and scrubs at his tearstained face. “It was my fault. I thought we were going to die. Cas said that he thought there was something that he could to to save us——save <em>me.</em> He never gave a damn about himself.”</p><p>“Dean, where is this going?”</p><p>“He had made a deal with the empty. Back when Jack died. The first time. In exchange for bringing Jack back, the empty would take Cas. But only——only when he was happy. Only when he let himself be happy.” A weak sob wrenches its way from Dean. “He told me he loved me, Sam. That was——that was it.” He tips his head back against the cabinet and lets fresh tears run down the sides of his face. “I never got to say it back.” He closes his eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” is all Sam can think of to say.</p><p>They fall back into silence after that. Both of them are still too wired to sleep, so they just sit, zoned out and exhausted beyond reason, but unable to sleep. Either way, sleep would most likely result in nightmares.</p><p>At some point, Jack wakes up, but he doesn’t do much more than he position himself and stare blankly ahead.</p><p>“Jack?”</p><p>Jack’s head perks up at Dean’s question. Dean sounds tired. His voice is rough, and wrought with emotions and pain.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Do you think...” Dean sighs and rubs his red eyes. “Is there any way you could bring Cas back?”</p><p>Jack thinks for a moment, and with every silent second that passes, Dean’s heart sinks lower. He can’t leave Cas like he is now, alone, cold and catatonic in the icy-slick slime of the place that is the empty. He can’t let himself do what Chuck wanted him to——to carry on with no thoughts of what he had lost. He can’t——</p><p>His empty stomach flips. He wants to throw up.</p><p>“I think... I can’t bring him back on my own, but I can try to open a door to the empty.” Jack sits up slightly taller, as if steeling himself for what that would take. “Someone would need to go in and pull him out, though. Does that work?”</p><p>“That——uh——yeah,” Dean says. A weak, teary smile crosses his face. “That works great.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>YEAH NEXT CHAPTER IS GAY ANGEL TIME LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOO</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Love wins, BITCH!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's what you're all here for--rescue the gay angel time!!!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Am I posting on time? Probably not. Anywayyyy, Cas! He's in this chapter! Fuck yeah!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean hasn’t slept in 48 hours, but that’s okay. He’s gone longer without, and will probably do so in the future. Still, he’s exhausted. He can’t remember the last time he was well-rested, and doubts that will change any time soon.</p><p>“You ready?” He asks Jack.</p><p>Jack nods from where he’s standing in the center of the room. They’re in the dungeon, of course, because they have to be. It’s the last place that the empty had broken through to earth, so it should be the easiest place to break through again, though the last word to describe this feat is ‘easy.’</p><p>Jack is exhausted. More tired than any kid should ever be, but he’s determined to punch a hole through reality as soon as he can, sleep or no sleep. He sways on his feet slightly, and steps away from the center of the room to lean against the wall.</p><p>“Jack, are you sure that you can do this?” Sam asks. He’s standing just inside the doorway, looking unsure.</p><p>“I have to,” Jack insists. His eyes are bright with determination, and just a hint of worry. He takes a deep breath. “The sooner we do this, the better. If I can open the door, you have ten, maybe twenty minutes to find Cas before it closes again.” Eyes dark, he looks at Dean. “Forever.”</p><p>Dean nods, short and sharp. It’s not enough time, but he’s going to need to make it work. Besides, any chance to get Cas back is better than no chance. He can’t let this slip through his grasp, because——even with Chuck’s influence gone——Dean doesn’t know how long he can make himself exist without Cas. If anything, the lack of Chuck’s influence has probably made things worse in that area.</p><p>
  <em>(“You asked ‘what about all this is real?’ We are.”)</em>
</p><p>Dean’s grief over losing Cas might be one of the only purely real things Dean has ever known.</p><p>Dean can’t dwell now, though. He needs to focus, and pull Cas out of the hell that he’s stuck in because Dean dared to make him fall.</p><p>“The empty won’t let Cas out with his grace,” Dean says in realization, glancing at the wall where the empty had appeared last. “That’s why it wanted you.” He jerks his head in Jack’s direction. “For all the... angelic parts, right?”</p><p>“Right. Cas will... he’ll need to fall. Become human.”</p><p>
  <em>And if he doesn’t think coming back is worth losing his grace?</em>
</p><p>Dean shakes the thought away. He can’t think like that. Focus, damnit. <em>Focus. </em>He pulls an extra angel blade he had grabbed earlier out of his jacket. “I’m prepared.”</p><p>“Do we need anything to do this?” Sam asks.</p><p>Jack shrugs. “I don’t think so,” he says, with a hint of a question in his voice. “I should just need to concentrate.”</p><p>There’s no telling exactly what is needed, seeing as few have attempted to travel to the empty, but some of this angel stuff seems instinctive, and Dean trusts Jack to do this correctly. He doesn’t have any other options, but he genuinely trusts Jack. After all, if he can’t trust his kid, who can he trust?</p><p>(it's a funny word, 'trust.')</p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>Dean sets his jaw and watches the far wall as Jack begins to focus on the opposite wall. Nothing happens for long enough that Dean wants to give up, but then he hears a <em>crack</em> like thunder right next to his ear,<br/>and an oozy blackish slash appears in reality. Jack sways again, and slides into a sitting position, limbs limp. His forehead creases in pain.</p><p>It’s not a good look, so Dean takes that as his cue to go. He runs for the horrid gash in reality, touches the dripping shadows, and disappears into the dark.</p><p>***</p><p>It’s so fucking dark.</p><p>The empty is just that——empty——eternal miles of nothing. Pure darkness in all directions. It’s suffocating. Petrifying. <em>Terrifying.</em></p><p>The only source of light comes from the golden cut between dimensions, the way back home.</p><p>
  <em>Ten, maybe twenty minutes.</em>
</p><p>Dean starts moving. He leaves the safety of the warm light, and walks into the darkness, going where his feet lead him. He has no direction, no way of knowing where Cas is, or how to wake him up. The aching hole in his heart pulls him to the left.</p><p><em>Cas,</em> he prays. <em>Please, if you’re still out there, if you can hear this, I need you to wake up. I need</em> you. <em>I don’t know how I’m going to find you, but I have one chance at this, and if I can’t...</em></p><p>Dean turns left.</p><p>Right.</p><p>Circle.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>He keeps walking. Time is ticking down, and he knows it, but he can’t go back, not until he finds Cas.</p><p>Left.</p><p>
  <em>Cas, please. I have something I need to tell you.</em>
</p><p>“Cas!”</p><p>Nothing. </p><p>
  <em>Please...</em>
</p><p>There’s a soft splashing sound from behind Dean, and he spins around. Standing in front of him, in all of his trench-coated and blue-eyed glory, is Cas. Dean feels so relieved that he could cry.</p><p>“Cas.” His voice is softer this time, packed with emotions and overflowing with things that he had been too frozen to say earlier. Yes, they’re pressed for time, but that doesn’t stop Dean from crushing Cas in a hug so tight that it nearly knocks the breath out of both of them, and maybe Dean is crying a bit, but he thinks he’s earned it. Cas, on the other hand, seems damn near hysterics. He had looked shocked and a little confused when Dean had turned to see him, but now he’s downright terrified.</p><p>“Why are you doing this to me?” Cas whispers, shaking in both body and voice. “I let you take me, I went to sleep like you asked——“ his voice breaks. “Please. Let me sleep. I didn’t do anything.”</p><p>“It’s me, Cas,” Dean says. “It’s Dean. I’m here to take you back home.”</p><p>“Stop,” Cas begs. “I wasn’t bothering you.”</p><p>Dean steps back, and uses one of his hands to tip Cas’ head up slightly, until his eyes are level with Dean’s. “It’s me. Cas, you’ve got to believe me.”</p><p>Cas blinks a few times in an obvious attempt to hide the tears in his eyes. “No. I don’t——I don’t get to have this.”</p><p>
  <em>You don’t think you deserve to be saved.</em>
</p><p>Dean knows that feeling all too well.</p><p><em>“Look</em> at me,” Dean pleads. “Cas, please.”</p><p>Cas opens his teary eyes, and focuses on Dean. This <em>is</em> Dean. There’s a brightness in his eyes that the empty will never be able to replicate, no matter his hard it tries. It’s his soul——his pure, beautiful soul——shining through. Even with his grace so wrung that it’s practically useless, Cas can see it.</p><p>How hadn’t he noticed it before?</p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>“Right.” Dean steps back from Cas. “And we’ve gotta move, because the door back home isn’t going to stay open much longer.”</p><p>Cas nods, and both him and Dean almost seamlessly switch into action, and Cas sticks next to Dean as he scopes out the way back to the door.</p><p>There’s a faint golden glow ahead, so Dean chases that. There’s no way it’s anything <em>but</em> the door back, and it’s not so far that they’ll need to sprint to make it. Dean isn’t sure that Cas can manage more than an on and off half-run at the moment, but they move as quickly as they can.</p><p>Cas is wheezing by the time they reach the door, and nearly pitches forward into Dean when he stops.</p><p>“Cas,” Dean says, placing a steadying hand on Cas’ shoulder. “There’s something you need to do before we can leave.”</p><p>Cas turns towards Dean, his face a picture of worry and... guilt?</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Dean, I——I swear, if there had been any other way, I wouldn’t have told you.”</p><p>“This isn’t about that.” Dean slowly draws the angel blade from his coat and holds it up. “If you’re coming back, you need to fall. The empty won’t let you out with your grace.” he adjusts his grip on the blade with cold-numbed fingers. The non-air of the empty is freezing, and Dean is starting to shake from the cold. “There’s no other way. I’ve looked, and I know it’s not what you want, but I...” Dean’s words fail him. <em>I can’t live without you, </em>he wants to say.<em> I need you. I </em>love<em> you.</em></p><p>He can’t say any of that, though. He’s too choked up, and he doesn’t have time to sort his feelings properly to say what he wants, so he settles for something else, and holds the blade out.</p><p>“Come home, Cas.”</p><p>“I——I think I’d like that.”</p><p>Cas reaches out, takes the blade, and carefully slits his own throat. White-blue light oozes from the cut, and he chokes on it. Spitting turquoise brightness, Cas drops the blade, where it sinks into the dark without so much as a splash, and lurches into Dean.</p><p>Dean braces himself, and barely manages to keep both him and Cas upright. “Hey, hey, you okay?”</p><p>“Human,” Cas grunts, pushing himself back into a standing position. He still leans heavily on Dean, though, and winces as the last of his grace drips to the ground. “It’s cold here.”</p><p>Dean hums in agreement, pulls Cas close, and walks them into the flickering, slowly shrinking, tear in the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's that! Bam, baby! Two more chapters left :3</p><p>Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, especially in this economy :p</p><p>See y'all soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Emotions Hurt Sometimes, But You’re Better For it After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cas is home!!! Gay feelings talk time!!!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay I’m late again and idk what the fuck happened to linear time in this chapter but I think it’s understandable well enough so here we are</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cas is dizzy. He’s cold, and his eyes are watery with pain. He can barely see through the tears, and everything hurts.</p><p>What a way to return to humanity.</p><p>He coughs, blinking away the blurriness in his vision as he’s led across the room, and guided into a chair. Breath——cold as anything he’s ever known——burns in his chest, and sucks in a deep breath to try to warm his constricted lungs. Gentle hands move from his shoulders to his arms, cheeks, and finally his back when Cas doubles over with hacking coughs.</p><p>“Hey, Cas——<em>Cas, </em>look at me.”</p><p>Cas swallows down the last of his coughs, and looks up at Dean, who is crouched in front of the chair that Cas is slumped over in. He looks tired, but relived, light and almost... happy. No. Not ‘almost.’ Dean looks practically <em>overjoyed.</em></p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>Cas nods. His head feels like it’s filled with water, and he’s slowly losing the weird cold numbness in his limbs as he warms up, which just makes his skin prickle. He lethargically looks around the rest of the room, and finds Sam, who is towards the back of the room, trying to hold up a half-asleep Jack.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>***</p><p>“Chuck is dead?”</p><p>“Twice.” Dean laughs ruefully. “Hopefully it takes.” He taps his hands on the table absentmindedly, lost in his thoughts for the moment. Cas doesn’t seem to mind; he is as equally distracted.</p><p>Sam is passed out cold in his bedroom. He’s earned a rest, and after Cas’ return, all energy had seemed to drain from his body, and he had barely made it back to his bed before passing out. Jack had been nearly unconscious by the time Dean and Cas had managed to pass through the door, but had managed to stay awake just long enough to give Cas a hug. Dean had carried the kid to his room while Sam and Cas had gotten reacquainted. He was dead asleep, and hadn’t so much as stirred when Dean had tucked him under a blanket.</p><p>By the time that Dean comes back from Jack’s room, Cas has moved to the main room, and Sam is gone. Asleep. Hopefully peacefully. He needs some uninterrupted rest for once in his life.</p><p>Cas is standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trench coat shucked and held bunched in front of him. His tired eyes sweep over the room again and again, like he’s trying to memorize every bit of the room. Like he’s trying to assure himself it’s all real. Every inch of his body is taut with the tension of worry——fear, even. That emotion——fear——makes Dean’s chest pinch. He doesn’t want Cas to be scared.</p><p>“Hey, Cas,” Dean calls softly.</p><p>Cas’ head whips to Dean, and he shuffled back a couple feet. He stops. Forces himself to look at Dean. Steadies himself.</p><p>“Hello, Dean.”</p><p>His voice is raspy and quiet, so much so that Dean can barely hear it, and Dean walks closer, not just so that he can hear Cas more clearly. He’s drawn to Cas by an unmistakable feeling that he has always been too scared to vocalize. A thing that he’s been taught to push down, to ignore, to pretend that it doesn’t exist. A thing that he’s been told is a weakness (in a way, it is), and that it brings nothing but hurt and pain (it doesn’t).</p><p>The thing drawing him to Cas——the thing that has always drawn him to Cas——is love. It’s something that Dean may never understand, but this time, he follows it all the same.</p><p>“I think we should talk.”</p><p>And that is how they end up at a table: Dean nervously tapping at the wood of it, and Cas refusing to even potentially meet Dean’s eyes. Both of them now quiet. It has been a couple hours since they had started talking, both still buzzing with adrenaline, and every bit of Chuck’s puppetry that Dean understands and knows of has been revealed. He almost wishes he hadn’t said some of the stuff he did, if only to spare Cas the mental images.</p><p>The silence continues, and the atmosphere thickens. Words, thoughts, and feelings rattle around Dean’s chest, nearly suffocating him with their attempts to be heard. Even now that he knows he can have Cas, he can seem to make the words he wants to say order themselves properly.</p><p>Another minute passes, twice as slow as the last, and finally, Dean forces himself to speak.</p><p>“About what you said. Before. In the dungeon.” He clears his throat. “You can have me. You’ve always had me.” He swallows roughly, and shoves aside the rising panic forming in his chest. “I love you, too.”</p><p>The weight and honesty in those words hits Cas like a pallet of bricks.</p><p>Cas has tears in his eyes when Dean looks up. Tears of happiness, Dean realizes. Only this time, they’re not tainted by the impending presence of both the empty and Death. Cas wipes his eyes, and tries to stop the tears, but his the tears don’t stop, and he just ends up spreading the wetness further across his cheeks. He curls into himself and covers his face with his hand in an attempt to hide his tears, and bites his lip to avoid the miserable, but slightly relieved sobs that threaten to spill over.</p><p>An eternity of emotion let out all at once is <em>painful. </em>It hurts, not like being stabbed or shot, but in a soul-deep, cleansing way. It doesn’t feel good by any measure, but the weight off of Cas’ chest when he starts to let himself cry is near enough to make him dizzy. At some point he abandons the idea of keeping quiet, and just lets the tears flow. He’s dimly aware of Dean standing up and sliding into the seat next to him, and the warm arm that suddenly appears around his shoulders, but he can’t focus on it now. All Cas seems capable of at the moment is producing more tears.</p><p>Dean lets him, and it’s a good thing he does because now that he’s started, Cas doesn’t know if he can stop.</p><p>Eventually (after probably far too long), the tears and heaving sobs trail off, and Cas ends up leaning heavily against Dean. Every part of him is exhausted, and his limbs feel like they’re filled with sand. Thankfully, Dean doesn’t seem at all annoyed by Cas’ tears soaking into the sleeve of his shirt, or the fact that Cas is halfway to practically laying in his lap. If anything, he just seems concerned. Cas doesn’t even need to be an angel anymore to sense the worry that Dean is loudly broadcasting with his body language.</p><p>“I’m——“ Cas clears his throat. All of the tears have horribly distorted his usual voice. “I’m sorry.” He pushes himself into an upright sitting position, and makes it a point not to think too hard when Dean’s arm disappears from around his shoulders.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Dean says, his voice quiet and soft.</p><p>He shifts in his seat to face Cas better. Cas scrubs the last of the tears from his face, and looks over at Dean. His eyes are tear-glittery, too, but not broken and dull-looking like they normally are when Dean breaks down. It’s all tears of exhaustion, joy, relief. Not sadness.</p><p>Cas surprises himself by yawning.</p><p>“Tired?” Dean asks, blinking back the last of the wetness in his eyes.</p><p>“No,” Cas says quickly. He’s almost asleep on his feet, but he can’t pass out now. Sleep means darkness, darkness means the empty, and Cas can’t willingly let himself slip into the dark again. “No. I don’t need——“</p><p>
  <em>You’re human now. Dean knows you’re lying.</em>
</p><p>“——sleep.”</p><p>“Yes, you do.”</p><p>Cas refuses to meet Dean’s eyes. He’s not thinking clearly, he knows that much, but some unfairly stubborn part of Cas is terrified that Dean is going to disappear the moment he closes his eyes. He can’t stop thinking that everything——Dean, the bunker, all of it——is going to vanish into shadowy, grainy nothingness. He fights of another yawn.</p><p>“I’m not tired.”</p><p>“You’re about to fall asleep on me, Cas.”</p><p>“Dean, please. I’m not——“</p><p>“C’mon.” Dean stands and extends his hand to Cas. “Let’s go.”</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“Bed.” There’s a short pause before Dean speaks again, and when he does, he sounds slightly unsure of himself. Like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say what he’s saying. “I don’t want to be alone now, and I don’t think you do either.”</p><p>Cas nods, short and jerky. He doesn’t think he could handle solitude at the moment. “Your room?”</p><p>“That’s——uh——what I was thinking.” Dean bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt to stop himself from saying something stupid.</p><p>Fuck it, he’s already told Cas that he loves him. “I could keep watch if you need me to,” Dean adds. <em>You’re overstepping, </em>he thinks. <em>Cas </em><em>is already freaked out, and you’re just making it worse.</em></p><p>“I think I would like that,” Cas answers after a moment.</p><p>Dean grabs Cas’ hand and starts to pull him towards the bedrooms before he can think too hard about the exchange that has just occurred. He’s gone too long without sleep to be rational for much longer, so it’s best that he brings Cas where he needs to go before either of them completely lose their minds to sleep deprivation and start babbling nonsense. In Dean’s case that would most likely result in a disgustingly chick-flick-y ramble of a speech in an effort to tell Cas everything that he hasn’t had the chance to yet, and Dean would much rather wait to sort things out when he is better rested.</p><p>Cas lets himself be led to Dean’s bedroom, but hesitates once he’s inside the room itself. The only light is a faint glow from down the hall, and that’s not nearly enough to see what Cas needs to. His night vision is newly lacking, and now is not the time for that, because the second that Dean’s hand slips out of Cas’——the second Dean all but disappears into the shadows of his room——Cas’ heart drops. All of a sudden it’s too dark, too suffocating, and entirely too much for Cas to handle at the moment. He feels his breath quicken, and his pulse nearly double. His legs threaten to buckle in on themselves, and he stumbles back into the wall.</p><p>
  <em>Too dark. It’s too dark. Too dark toodarktoodark——</em>
</p><p>A light clicks on, and the shadows in Cas’ mind fade slightly. He’s shaking, though, and the fear lodged in his chest refuses to dissolve. Dean turns to look at Cas, and his eyes flash with worry.</p><p>“Shit——Cas, what happened?”</p><p>Cas opens his mouth, but can’t form the words. His throat clicks, and he closes his mouth, regroups, and tries again. “It’s d——“</p><p>Nothing. He can’t finish what he wants to say.</p><p>“It’s too dark,” Dean says after a moment. “You’re scared of the dark.” He crosses the room, and flicks on another light.</p><p>“I’m——“ Cas nearly chokes up again. “It’s not——“</p><p>“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean says softly. He walks over to Cas, and lays his hand on Cas’ shoulder. “We can leave the lights on.”</p><p>Cas leans into the gentle pressure of Dean’s hand, and Dean wraps his arms around Cas. Cas hugs back, clinging to Dean for dear life and letting Dean hold him up. It’s nice, Cas decides——being held. He soaks in the contact like a sponge, with none of the usual guilt that he has when he takes Dean’s gentle touches and steals his time.</p><p>
  <em>“You can have me. You’ve always had me.”</em>
</p><p>Eventually, Dean steps away, and Cas needs to stop himself from grabbing Dean back.</p><p>Dean walks over to the dresser next to his bed, pulls one of the drawers open, and pulls out a couple articles of clothing. He holds them out to Cas, who looks at them with a confused expression.</p><p>“Put them on,” Dean says. “You can’t sleep in a suit.”</p><p>“Oh.” Cas looks down at himself. He’s definitely still wearing a suit, and not a clean one.</p><p>At this point Dean has turned away from Cas and started taking out his own set of clothes. Hesitantly, Cas slips out of his suit-jacket and sets it gently on Dean’s bed before stripping off his button-up, and then the shirt under that. He shivers and shrugs into the shirt that Dean loaned him. It’s soft and worn, and it smells like Dean.</p><p>It’s very... <em>calming.</em> Cas hasn’t felt this calm in a long time.</p><p>He kicks off his shoes and lines them up neatly under Dean’s bed, then changes into the fuzzy green and black pants offered to him. After that, he steps away from the bed, and turns around to see Dean tugging his own shirt down.</p><p>“I’m gonna pass out in a few minutes,” Dean says, clearly fighting off a yawn as he steps next to his bed. “So,” he pulls back the covers on his bed, sits on it, and scoots in towards the middle a bit. “Sleep. C’mere.”</p><p>It’s strange——not a bad strange, but something new and unfamiliar——but Cas doesn’t mind that. Somewhat awkwardly, he climbs into bed next to Dean and fits his body half next to, half on Dean.</p><p>Dean laughs, and Cas looks up at him in confusion. “What?”</p><p>“I was——“ Dean laughs again and tips his head back until it knocks against the headboard. “I was thinking you’d sleep on the other side, but,” He grabs Cas’ arm before he can move away. “This works, too.”</p><p>Cas nods, and relaxes back into Dean’s hold. Dean lets go of Cas’ arm, and backs up a few inches so he won’t push Cas off the bed if he rolls over. Cas follows, eyes drooping, and yawns as Dean settles back down.</p><p>“‘Night, Cas.”</p><p>Cas drops his head onto Dean’s chest and hums tiredly. “Goodnight Dean.”</p><p>He closes his eyes and lets himself sleep, knowing he’ll wake up safe in the morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ONE!</p><p>MORE!</p><p>CHAPTER!</p><p>(Any comments and kudos would be greatly appreciated:3)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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